Ghost on the Canvas
by chezchuckles
Summary: by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles. AU. Assuming all things are equal, the watch is for the life she saved; the ring is for the life she lost; but the bracelet is for the life she misses. SPOILERS for Boom! from Season Two. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title**: Ghost on the Canvas**

Authors**: Sandiane Carter **and** chezchuckles**

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><p>Summary &amp; Notes:<p>

AU : Assuming all things are equal, the watch is for the life she saved; the ring is for the life she lost; but the bracelet is for the life she misses. SPOILERS for Boom! from Season Two.

Introducing a new member of the Beckett family, thanks to carolina17's prompting, in the midst of the events of Boom!. It took two of us to make it work. Find Sandiane Carter's author page here: /u/1378996/

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><p>.<p>

"See the ghost on the canvas."

-Glen Campbell

.

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><p>Her feet are a mess; she trails blood-prints down the hallway.<p>

"Got it?" he asks, too quietly after his forced-humorous recounting of how he knocked the door down.

Kate steps on the outside of her foot but that stings as well; Castle holds her up, more than she would wish. She hisses in a breath when her left ankle rolls, but he's right there, catching her.

"Just. . .gotta take it slow," she murmurs back.

Under his coat, she shivers. Her teeth are chattering. But she's not cold.

"How'd you. . .figure it out?"

Castle still has that ravaged silence that makes Kate sick to her stomach. Or maybe it's the trickle of blood in a thin line down the inside of her right thigh instead, a ripple of agony every time she takes a step. Or maybe the slick heat at her temple and the burn of blood running into her left eye. Hard to know.

"Wrong hand," he says, then has to clear his throat and repeat it. "Wrong hand." His voice is raw.

"Ah." Still. How'd he notice that?

He answers her unasked question, mind reader that he is. "Sat up looking at the crime scene photos. It felt wrong."

"It felt done," she coughs, feels the scrape of air in her lungs. "Felt done to me."

He says nothing, but his arms are cords under her elbows, unforgiving. She knows it would be easier on them both if she just let him carry her out, but it would break all her rules. She has to walk out of here under her own steam; she has to reclaim her space, even if it's only just the centimeter above her skin's surface area.

"Kate-" he starts softly, regretfully.

"Why-why does this sound like-like the beginning of a confession?" She forces each word out with a tone of nonchalance. As if she has something to prove. "Huh, Castle?"

"I might have seen a little bit of you naked-" he rushes out.

"Castle."

"But now I'm seeing more-" he squeaks.

Kate stumbles, but realizes she hasn't properly buttoned his coat. A couple have worked free and the lapels gape apart. She draws a hand up to clutch at the sides, but then can't find her hand for a moment, lost in his sleeve.

A helplessness overtakes in a wave, like drowning, but she keeps her mouth shut to avoid swallowing water. Her lungs burn; her knees threaten to give way; she is standing on the ground floor of her apartment building, swaying, trying to find her own damn fingers-

Castle jerks the lapels closed, tightly, clutching a wad of his coat with one hand, carefully not looking at her, holding her up with an arm wrapped around her back, his hand under her elbow.

Kate has no feeling in her fingertips, but she takes over his post with a nod, as if relieving him of duty, reworking the top two buttons. Castle waits a moment to make sure she's really got it, and then he's propelling her forward again, resolutely.

She feels the blast of wind the moment the doors swing wide; emergency personnel are hustling through the lobby, converging on her and Castle. He hands her off to the paramedic, but he doesn't stray. He cringes and whines like a whipped puppy, but he heels.

"Beckett-"

The bus is heated, but her skin crawls at the dryness, the artificial warmth. Too much. She glances to Castle.

"I think there's a tshirt in the trunk of the Crown Vic-"

"I can get it," he offers immediately. She can see goose bumps rippling up and down his arms, bare where the sweater sleeves are pushed up. It looks like he ran out of his apartment without-

He probably did.

She would offer him his coat back, but it smells smoky, (is she ashamed of that?) and she's not sure she can unfist her hand from those lapels now.

"Have to get keys from Ryan, Esposito, if they-"

"They're already here."

Castle disappears; the medic is motioning for her to turn around, drop the coat, as he moves to shut the bus doors. She finds her body wracked in a bout of shivering she can't stop. She feels gritty without Castle's jacket, like her skin exposed to air makes it real again, makes her vulnerable. She lays down at the medic's gesture.

The paramedic keeps his mouth shut as he rotates her head on her neck, feels her scalp for damage, has her track his pen with her eyes. He gently probes her abdomen with one hand on top of the other, Castle's coat laid across her lap.

"No interntal damage," he says. "You can sit up."

She does, shivering, but the medic shakes his head when she goes to put Castle's coat back on. He swabs betadine over all the many cuts and scrapes lining her arms, adorning her neck, the side of her face, her thighs and knees, down her back. She's hunched over in the back of the bus with the paramedic playing connect the dots when Castle returns with a black, short-sleeved turtleneck and a pair of black pants.

His startled intake of breath lets her know both how bad it is and also how bad he has it.

The paramedic takes the clothes from him, pointedly shuts the doors again. Castle has somehow managed to remain inside the bus, but Kate shoots him a look over her shoulder and he meekly cracks open a door and jumps back down to the street.

The ambulance door closes gently, like a touch.

"Let me stitch these two places-"

The medic's touch on her inner thigh is cold because of the gloves; the local anesthetic quickly dulls everything else to a gentle tug. He makes a careful bandage and lets her put on the cotton dress pants.

It feels wrong without underwear; she wonders if Castle is thinking about that too. He found them in the car, she assumes, but can't remember leaving them there. Her hands shake as she buttons them.

The medic helps her with the black turtleneck. No bra. She feels wrong, all over. Her hair is sticky with wall plaster and glass, falling down in her eyes. The medic is trying to wash debris out of the cut on her arm; she hisses in pain.

"Will you-" Kate blinks and rubs at one eye with her free hand. "Let him back in?"

The guy bumps the door with a shoulder to keep the sterile field; Castle is standing right outside. His eyes lift to meet hers, something in his hands. He crawls into the back of the bus and sits down heavily beside her.

The disturbance causes her hair to fall further out of place. She lifts an arm to catch it, winces as something in her ribs burn.

"Pain?" the medic asks, lifting his eyes to look at her.

"Some."

"Ever have broken ribs before?"

"Yeah. It's not those. Just bruised." She runs her fingers through the dissolving french braid that she'd put her hair in before her shower. . .so long ago now. It all falls apart at her touch.

Castle's fingers are on hers, warm and gentle. She drops her hand, lets him take out the rubberband.

"I learned for Alexis," he says softly.

Kate cuts her eyes to the medic, but he's still intent on cleaning out her forearm. It burns. And Castle's hands are light as he redoes the loose french braid in her hair.

She misses the warmth of his hands as soon as he's done. "Thanks."

"Her hair's longer than yours, so it's not perfect-"

She turns her head to look at him, and that was a mistake. His eyes are too tender, too intense. She needs to change the subject.

"So. . .not Ben Conrad?" she hazards.

"No." But he's not offering more. Something else then.

"Your coat-" she says, and nods toward it. Castle startles and lifts the dark cloth in his lap.

"Almost forgot. Jacket. NYPD. From Ryan."

She takes the blue windbreaker with her right hand, crossing her body to do so, bruised ribs rippling. The paramedic is now stitching her left arm slowly and methodically.

"Stay still," he says.

Castle slips his coat back on; she catches him putting his nose to the collar and inhaling deeply.

"Smells like smoke, sorry about that," she starts.

His eyes fly open, and at the same time, she realizes he wasn't smelling smoke. But her. Fresh from her shower. And a bomb.

The paramedic touches the inside of her elbow with a finger; his sign for be still. Kate tries; the thread tugs at her skin and she has to not look. Castle is looking.

"Thirteen stitches," he says softly, then raises his eyes to meet hers. "Lucky."

She huffs a laugh but it falls flat. Her knees want to bounce in the confined space; she wants to do, act, go. Her hands will tremble until she can get a handle on this, until she can investigate, make the noise quiet.

The paramedic is swabbing the last of his stitches with betadine solution; he is wrapping her forearm in gauze.

A police officer comes for Castle's statement; Kate's hand is jittery on top of her thigh; the paramedic rolls her bandage slowly.

And then she sees Jordan Shaw headed straight towards her.

She wants in on this. She needs this one.

* * *

><p>Castle feels dizzy.<p>

He's given his statement, as clear as he can when Kate's apartment keeps exploding at the back of his mind, when his silly writer's brain keeps providing him with scenarios that end much worse than tonight has.

The uniform – a young guy he's run into a couple of times at the precinct, but whose name he can't, for the life of him, seem to remember now – was very patient. He bore with Rick's dazed stretches of silence and didn't comment on his furious blinking when he explained the blast, the banged down door, Kate diving in the tub.

The tub. It makes him want to laugh, but not a good, honest laugh – more the hysterical, manic kind. He'd never have dared to write something like this into Nikki Heat (the tub, really? Can it get more cliché?) and the reality of it is unsettling; the knowledge that without that protective layer of cast iron, she might have –

Stop. He needs to stop. But the commotion around him, the blue and red flashes of the lights – they keep his gears turning, his mind jumping from one feeling to the other, from one image to the other, in a seemingly random sequence.

The flames bursting through the windows, Kate's bare back, the adrenaline pumping in his veins when he rushed up the stairs, the fierce denial – _she can't be dead – _the blood trickling down Kate's cheek that he had to talk himself out of wiping away. _Goodbye, Nikki._

Jordan is standing in front of the ambulance where the medic was – is? – stitching Kate up, and he hesitates, itching to hear what she has to say, but also uncertain whether she wants him there. He's still a little impressed with Agent Shaw.

That's when he catches sight of Ryan and Esposito, and the guys gesture him over. Rick obeys readily; he could use some gallows humor right about now.

"What the hell, Castle?" Esposito growls, almost as if the writer's responsible for this.

They all know better, of course; they all know the real reason why he's snappy and nervous is because his boss was almost killed, and they thought the case was closed. And without Castle –

Rick explains as best as he can, Conrad and the gun in the left hand and the setup, but before he's had time to do more than answer their questions, Shaw and Beckett are walking towards them, their faces determined, their shoulders set in a similar way.

If talking to the guys has helped tune down the confusion in Castle's brain, seeing Kate quiets it for good. Her stride is as purposeful as ever, which triggers something like indignation inside him. She was leaning on him heavily, what? An hour ago? So he fully measures what it must cost her, to pull off this "I'm perfectly fine" vibe.

Of course, he knows better than to suggest she stay here while they go through her burned down apartment. Up they go again, Beckett not faltering once, he notices with a burn of pride to his chest. He seems unable to settle on a consistent emotion.

Esposito and Ryan are exchanging hushed comments next to him (cursing at their runaway serial killer, mostly) and Rick lets himself focus on that, even though his eyes don't stray from Kate's form.

The higher they get, the worse the smell. Most of the smoke has dissipated by now, but the walls in the corridor leading to Kate's place are blackened, and Castle's heart tightens when they walk into the wreck that was her living room.

Was it only last night that he was here, offering her a glass of wine? "I will have you know, Mr. Castle, that I sleep with a gun." Alas, a gun is no use against a bomb. He should buy her a bomb alarm. If that exists. He makes a mental note to find out. Not that it makes him feel any better; after all, he's half responsible for this.

Yes, even if he hadn't started the Heat series, Ben Conrad or whatever his name is would still be killing. But Kate's apartment wouldn't be ashes right now. And she wouldn't be looking around, her face an impassive mask, but her shoulders slightly sagged like she doesn't know where to start.

CSU is already sweeping the place, so Rick tries to make himself useful (or maybe he just can't bear to watch her stand in the middle of that mess) and he follows an FBI agent into the bedroom.

The lack of light – the wiring hasn't survived the explosion – seems rather fitting to the author. Darkness makes the disaster a little more bearable than lamps or daylight would.

There's a photo frame on the floor, completely ruined. Rick kneels down (his pants are ruined anyway) and he grabs the frame. He can make out Kate's face, young and smiling, and an arm thrown around her shoulder – her dad, maybe? He sighs, lets go of it. Nothing to be done there.

"Man, look at this," Esposito swears from a couple feet away. He's directing a flashlight into what must be Beckett's wardrobe, examining her clothes. The desolate look on his face would make Castle laugh under any other circumstances.

"Smoke damaged. I'm not sure she can use any of those again," the detective says tightly, radiating anger.

Suddenly it strikes Rick how wrong it is, to be standing in Beckett's room – the space she forbade him to enter only last night, her private, personal space, that has now five different people in it. He takes a step back, then another, and hears broken glass crunch under his feet.

The author reaches for his phone and turns his flashlight app on, crouching to get a better view.

Oh. Oh, no. With gentle fingers, he gathers the watch – Kate's father's watch, for the life she saved – noting the broken face, and the damage done by the fire to the watchband. His first instinct is to call to the dark-haired detective, but he stops in time.

If the sad spectacle of the broken watch is enough to break his heart, what will it do to her? And this is an old piece of jewelry, that she might not be able to have repaired immediately. She's going to have enough expenses, replacing clothes and valuable items; he won't burden her with this on top of the rest.

He'll give it back to her when the watch is fixed and as good as new. His heart lifts a little, and as he pockets Kate's possession and turns the flashlight off, he catches a sparkle of something among the blackened debris at his feet.

Castle squats down, feeling very much like an archeologist about to unearth an old and invaluable item. It's not quite a Mayan artifact, but he does believe the bracelet that he carefully extracts to be gold, beneath the layer of soot.

He checks the clasp, is absolutely delighted to find it working. This, he can give back to Kate now, and show her that she hasn't lost everything. Walking back into the corridor, Rick can't help being distracted when his gaze lands on a small bookcase.

Some of its contents are probably worth rescuing, right? The thing is, the spines of the books have all suffered from the blast, so identification is made a little difficult. Castle slides a book out, flips through the pages. _Murder on the Orient Express_, by Agatha Christie. He likes that one.

He puts it on the top of the bookcase, takes another book out, looking around to see what the others are up to. That's a mistake. There's the bathroom on his left, the bathroom with the providential tub that the writer vaguely thinks should be exhibited in a museum, and suddenly it's all much too real again.

The explosion and the fire, and Kate's mortality. He's so used to thinking of her as some sort of superhero, Badass Detective Beckett, who chases perps down the streets and always wins. But tonight, she came very close to losing. His stomach – thankfully empty – heaves, and he has to lean on the wall, fight for breath.

God, she could have died tonight. What's he doing here, in the corridor, where he can't see her? He needs to see her. He needs to see that she's all right.

Castle hastens back to the living room, a relieved sigh escaping his lips when he catches sight of Kate's dark hair. He wants to hug her, crush her against him until there's no space left, until they're one, or as close as they can come. But she's surrounded with CSU people and FBI agents, and she'd kill him, and –

He needs to get a grip on himself. From where he stands, he can see the hall is empty, and he makes his inconspicuous way towards it, aching for an out. The burned-down apartment is more than he can handle at the moment.

Rick controls his breathing as he steps outside, runs a tired hand down his face. He feels so helpless. At least the panic has started to recede, leaving only a bitter taste in his mouth. He's reminded of that time he lost Alexis in the mall; it's the only moment in his life that can compare to this. And even it falls short.

The book he took off her shelf is still in his hand, he realizes, surprised. Flipping through it, he doesn't have time to identify the novel: a piece of paper that must have been tucked between the pages now falls to the floor.

Rick bends to retrieve it, quickly sees his mistake. It's a postcard, not some random bookmark. A postcard from France.

Curiosity takes over, and he flips the card (a nice picture of the sunset on one of Paris's bridges) to peer at the text.

_Dear Katie,_ it starts. Castle feels his interest shooting up. From what he's gathered, the only people Beckett allows to call her Katie are the ones who knew her before her mother's death. It's a woman's handwriting, and the letter is signed, _Beth_. Who the heck is Beth?

He skims over the first lines that ask how the detective's doing, recount what life in France is like, what working in a fancy hotel is like. _It's only temporary_, the mysterious woman writes, _but the paycheck's worth it._ She goes on to mention a certain "Antoine", who's "adorable" and "a real gentleman." _Not like Dick. Remember Dick, Katie? God, you hated him so much. What did you call him? Brainless Muscle Guy? _

Castle's brow furrows. Whoever Beth is, it sure sounds like the two of them are close. 'Were' close? He checks the date on the stamp. February 6th, 2010. That's fairly recent. He goes back to the text, scans to the end quickly.

He almost misses it. It's right there though, glaring at him from the last line.

_I hope Dad is doing okay. Not worried about you, though: I know you're one tough cookie._

_Love, Beth._

What the –

Rick stares, unable to help himself.

He wanted a distraction from Ben Conrad and the case, but this? This, he feels, is more than he bargained for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

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><p>Castle is too quiet on the drive to Conrad's place. She worries over it, like a piece of gravel in her shoe, irritating. She checks Shaw's rearview mirror, but she can't really see him. And she won't ask; she won't.<p>

She's got stitches on her thigh, stitches up her forearm, her hair in Castle's sloppy french braid. She feels gritty, even her eyes are gritty, but she can't stop now.

The case was done. And now-

Her head is pounding; she closes her eyes for just a second, tries to push it down.

The apartment.

It takes Shaw and the team no time at all, and soon they're all sliding out of the SUVs, heading for the crime scene of Conrad's apartment. The FBI has a method, of course, and she and Castle are mostly in the way while the team makes its perimeter check.

She hang backs, puts a hand out to stop him. "Thanks, Castle."

He jerks his head towards her, opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

She tries giving him a tired smile; the night air is cool and finds its way through the police windbreaker. "Don't look so stunned, Castle. I can say thank you."

He nods, ridiculously, but this time his mouth seems to work. "I'm glad you're okay. I'm glad-grateful for cast iron bathtubs."

She does smile at that, appreciating his attempt at levity. Sometimes she forgets that even though Castle is a part of her team, he's not a cop. He hasn't had the training, he's not used to the way humanity's evil can beat them down. Gallows humor works for her and her boys, but it might not work for him. "Are you okay?"

The look that comes over him, so honest and raw, is nearly her undoing. She avoids his eyes.

A brush of his fingers at her forehead has her wincing, dodging his hand. "Castle-"

"You're still bleeding," he says softly.

"I'm fine-"

"You're not." She risks a look up to him and stays patiently still as his fingers dab the blood at her hairline.

"Head wounds bleed, Castle."

He brings out a hankerchief from his coat pocket and something else clatters to the sidewalk at their feet. His hands still, but she takes the square of cloth and presses it against her forehead, then gestures to the pavement.

"I'd get it for you, but bending over makes me a little. . .dizzy."

Castles swoops down and stammers. "I-I found something at your place. Not damaged. Relatively undamaged, I mean."

She raises her eyebrows, glances over her shoulder to check on the team. Shaw is coordinating with Avery; they start to go inside. Castle's hankerchief is dark from her blood, but she refolds it and tucks it away. "My dad's watch?"

"I found a bracelet," he says, and for some reason, he's reaching out to take her hand.

She shakes him off. She's already teetering too close to the edge tonight; she needs the focus of this case to keep her solid, not the softness of his hand. "A bracelet. Okay. Well-"

Castle opens his fist; the gold circlet on his palm shines in the streetlight. Her heart clenches.

"Oh," she says, unbalanced. "That was my mom's." She reaches for it, swallows hard past the pit of grief that opens wide, suddenly, like a mouth. Hungry.

"It was?" He relinquishes it to her, but she can't take her eyes off the thin circle of rose gold. The clasp looks undamaged. The etchings in the metal seem scuffed, but maybe with polish, a cleaning-

"It's pretty. I've never seen you wear it."

She closes her hand around it. "It's not mine to wear." Kate scowls into the darkness over Castle's shoulder. "We need to go."

"Not yours to wear?"

Kate shakes him off, heads towards the apartment building. The gold is still warm; she shoves it into her other pocket, zips it closed for safe-keeping.

"Is it Beth's to wear instead?"

Kate stumbles.

"It is," he says softly. "Beth's."

Her eyes still fixed firmly on the apartment building's front door, Kate takes a long, slow breath, and then turns back around.

"Why can't you ever mind your own business?"

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><p>"Why didn't you tell me you had a sister?" He shoots back without missing a beat.<p>

For the first time since he read that postcard, Castle admits that the feeling at the pit of his stomach is a stinging mixture of betrayal and incomprehension, because he cannot understand how anyone would hide something so big.

Of course, this is Kate, who is so private that if she ever sends postcards, she probably slides them into enveloppes, so that the mailman won't be able to read them. And he has no business feeling betrayed, not really – but his emotions are still running wild since his earlier scare, and his filter is somewhat off.

Sleep is what he needs. He doesn't need to make Beckett close her eyes against his questions, huff out a shaky breath. He steps forward, words of apology just about to tumble from his lips, then hesitates. She's barely holding it together; he doesn't know how she fooled him before, but she doesn't fool him now.

He sees it in the way she moistens her lips, keeps her eyelids down for a second longer than she usually would; the way her fingers twitch like she's keeping herself from making a fist.

Whatever this business with her sister is (and he's certain about the sister thing now, because she hasn't denied it), it's something big, obviously. He knows the different ways Kate reacts when he starts digging into her life, and he isn't sure her emotion has anything to do with his nosiness. No, it's something else entirely.

Rick keeps silent, waiting for a cue, for her to decide how she wants to play this. Probably the best way he can apologize right now.

"Later, Castle," she finally lets out, opening her eyes with a makeshift determination, pale shadow of her usual confidence. "Not now."

He nods, doesn't miss the glimmer of relief in her eyes before she turns again and heads for Conrad's apartment building. The writer follows, trying to tame the great flock of questions that whirls and kicks inside him, looking for release.

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><p>Going through Ben Conrad's apartment, however, provides a good distraction for his curiosity. That's a part of police work that Castle loves, that he's always enjoyed writing about: the collecting clues, the searching for secret hideouts.<p>

He doesn't mind that it's Beckett who finds it, as long as he gets to see the killer's lair, the place where he held Conrad hostage for the last few days – maybe longer.

And it might be an inappropriate time to think this, but it's exciting to work with both Kate and Jordan Shaw, because now he has two brilliant minds to point out the flaws in his theories. Not that Ryan and Esposito aren't brilliant, no, but they're not as fascinated with explaining and making sense of things as he is.

While Jordan and Kate are.

He still finds it hilarious that Beckett is jealous of the way he collaborates with Shaw, that she can't see the difference. He feels that difference so deeply that it makes no sense to him, her being blind to it. Because, yeah, Jordan is clever and efficient and a little bit scary, but she's nothing like Kate.

She didn't fascinate him from the first with her witty retorts and her soulful eyes; she doesn't constantly challenge him, remind him that he's just a man, a fallible man. She doesn't let him catch glimpses of the soft, raw places of her when the case gets tough.

So, yes, Jordan Shaw is an attractive woman, and a stimulating person to work with. But Beckett... He shakes his head, vaguely amused. He doesn't have words for her. Isn't that what Nikki Heat is all about? Finding words for Kate. Words for Beckett.

The greatest challenge of all.

And then "Ben Conrad" calls, and he's suddenly reminded of that horrifying, sickening reality: much as he wants to celebrate Kate Beckett, sing her praises, write her poems, there's also a man in this city who is hell-bent on killing her.

* * *

><p>Beckett finds herself, once more, on the raw and ragged edge of hysteria. The fact that she again will not succumb to it, that she keeps herself from its dark maw, is testament only to the force of her feeling for Richard Castle.<p>

It makes no sense on the surface of things, but it's true.

When she hears Not-Conrad's voice on her phone, the too-smooth tones of his sneering, it is a violent shove between her shoulder blades, right to the edge again. That woman's scream-

She raises her eyes, crouched in Not-Conrad's clever hole, the panic struggling in her chest to break free, and she meets Castle's gaze.

All without conscious thought, of course, not planned, but there nonetheless, and she thinks, _I can't let him see me like this_.

Richard Castle cannot see her crumble. Not for this. Not for some psychotic who has taken Nikki Heat and twisted her, malformed her.

Because Nikki Heat is half his, half hers, and she never wants this thing they've created between them to cause him pain, to make him doubt.

So she takes a mental step back; she hardens her heart. She knows it's costly, but she does it anyway. Kate's heart struggles weakly against her ribs, a thing caged, but Kate grinds it down, clamps it tightly, soldiers on.

She's still on the ragged edge, but all she has to do is look at Castle - shaken, trusting Castle - and the glimpses of concern she still sees in his face, and she can do this. She can always keep going.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>AU : Assuming all things are equal, the watch is for the life she saved; the ring is for the life she lost; but the bracelet is for the life she misses.<p>

* * *

><p>"He used her cell phone, and then he left it on so we could trace it." The bitterness fills Kate's mouth.<p>

Gloria Rodriguez, just a maid from a nice hotel in midtown. Kate is squatting beside the crime scene and chewing on the inside of her cheek, furious and impotent at the same time. She holds the identification up to the glare from the SUV's headlights, weariness keeping her from rising.

"Found a slug," Shaw saws, her flashlight inspecting the blood and brick. Kate needs to call Esposito and have the crime scene boys get out here, start working the scene.

"Letter etching?" Castle stands behind her; she can see the dark lines of his shadow thrown across the alley.

"No, it looks clean."

The longer Kate sits here, bowed by this woman's death, the less likely it is that they find this guy. She needs to get up.

"The other murders were planned," Shaw continues slowly; Kate can see her wheels turning. "This one was done out of anger, wanting to be in control."

"All because I lived," she says heavily, wanting to close her eyes against it but afraid that will reveal nightmares she can't face right now.

"You can't blame yourself for that."

Gloria Rodriguez was someone's loved one, maybe even someone's mother. Gloria deserves more from Kate than self-pity, or paralyzing guilt, but she's having a hard time standing up and dealing with this case.

"How. . .did he know you lived?"

Kate glances up, her heart kicking back into gear. "He was watching." Her mouth goes dry and she stands. "At the aftermath."

"Everything about this guy's profile tells me he was watching at the other crime scenes."

"Yeah, but the first thing we did was compare crime scene photos." Kate clenches her fists at her side. They've already done this, already gone over this ground before. How does this help them? Gloria Rodriguez is dead now. She should call Esposito.

"Yeah, I know. We ran them through facial recognition." Jordan is shaking her head at Kate, eyes closed as if she can think better if she doesn't have to look at Kate's doubt. "I know he was there."

Castle moves past Kate, stepping around her, getting in on the FBI action. "He wouldn't *be* in the crowd; he'd know that's where we'd look."

"No, he hides in plain sight. He's a chameleon." Shaw and Castle, giving each other googly eyes as they build theory. Kate sets her jaw. "We didn't see him in the crowd, because he was dressed as one of us."

That smug, _I've got it_ look on Shaw's face is Kate's last straw. "That's all fine and good, but what about Gloria Rodriguez? You said yourself that this was a crime of anger, unplanned. That means he'll have been sloppy; he might have left us good forensics. If we focus on her, this might be our break."

Castle steps closer to Shaw. "We could go back to the crime scene photos. Use your facial recognition software on the cops, the emergency responders. I mean, Beckett's place alone was crawling with guys I've never seen before."

Shaw nods. "The FBI guys are all my team; I'm pretty certain I'd have noticed someone out of place. But we'll still check-"

Kate, ignored and teetering back on the edge of hysteria, pulls out her phone, undamaged in the blast thanks to her otter case. She needs to call Esposito. "You're wasting time here. We need to get this crime scene worked up. We're already losing-"

Shaw jerks her head back to Kate. "The focus of my investigation is always this guy, Detective. We have a shot at getting a good look at his face, and that will give us an ID. In minutes. You want to work this crime scene? Fine. But I'm not."

Shaw starts heading back for the SUV, her heels clicking. Kate watches her a moment, then sees Castle passing her out of the corner of her eye.

"Castle!"

"She's right, Beckett. We need to get this guy yesterday. She has a good idea. I'm going with her. What about you?"

Her hands clench over the phone. "Leave me here. I'll ride back with Esposito."

"Alone?" Castle says, hesitating between the headlights of the SUV. Shaw has restarted the engine. "After all this?"

"I'll be fine. Go." Kate lifts the phone to her ear and waits for Esposito to pick up. "I am armed, you know." His hand flutters back at the SUV, gesturing to Shaw; Kate hears her team on the other end. "Esposito, got a crime scene for ya."

The SUV idles. Castle is still beside her. "At least wait until the guys get here," he yells back to Shaw. There's an edge to voice.

Kate turns her back so he doesn't see the emotion in her eyes. "Yeah, Espo, we traced the number. We got another body."

* * *

><p>The writer – bless him – insists that they stop for coffee on the way back to the precinct, even in the face of Jordan's disapproval and her comment that every second matters. Beckett keeps silent, mindful of her image since it was only this morning that she had to convince Shaw of keeping her on the case, but the smell of coffee when Castle comes back is so heavenly that she almost wants to cry.<p>

Wow. She really needs sleep.

Coffee will have to do, however. Kate waits until the car stops at a red light to take a careful sip, absorbed in the warmth and the deliciousness of the liquid as it goes smoothly down her throat. Unlike Shaw's decision to focus on Not-Conrad. She lets out a silent sigh.

She feels Castle's eyes on her without even casting a glance towards the back seat, but she doesn't remark on it. His coffee is a life-saver right now, and for once she doesn't mind letting him know. Hell, not so long ago, Castle himself was playing the role of life-saver.

Okay, not going there.

And life-saver or not, she cannot take the questions he keeps asking Shaw, the ideas he throws at her, like Kate herself is no good anymore, outdated. Some irony it is, that she's been avoiding any sort of personal relationship with the writer because she's scared of how fast he would move on. Turns out he can move on from her professionally too, after all. And it hurts every bit as much.

More, maybe.

The detective closes her eyes against the conversation that she isn't a part of, trying to shut out their voices.

"You okay?" Shaw asks in that focused, businesslike tone that doesn't exactly make you want to spill your guts out.

"Yeah, fine," Kate answers after a beat. They all know it's a lie, but what other answer can she give?

She hears Castle move in the back seat, as if to get a better view of her. She can't deal with him right now, with his hovering, and she resolutely stares through her window, fingers tightening on her cup.

The rest of the ride is silent, much to her relief. Even so, loneliness and exhaustion mingle with the taste of coffee on her tongue, ruin Kate's earlier pleasure.

It's going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>"You got a better idea? Cause I'm all out."<p>

Castle watches Kate as she rails at him. In the overlarge NYPD windbreaker, she looks small and broken, but still trying valiantly to rally. Under his fingers, he can feel the thick edge of a crime scene photo.

His arm is killing him, his shoulder aches from breaking down her door. The palms of his hands have blistered where the burning door came in contact with his skin. And Beckett is yelling at him.

Yeah, he and Shaw have this good thing going, building theory and figuring out Not-Conrad's steps. It's good, it feels really good to actually get somewhere on this, to do something after Kate's apartment was bombed. He needs to get this guy, not just because it's another case, but because, like Kate just yelled at him, it's personal.

"All of his first victims: the personal injury lawyer, the dog-walker, the taxidermist; they all link back to the death of Ben Conrad's dog," Shaw says, walking around the table to confront Kate.

Castle stands up straighter, that rush of story singing in his veins as Shaw builds the idea before them.

"How could our killer have known all the players in someone else's life?"

Exactly. Exactly! "He must've known Ben Conrad," he interjects. And Shaw turns back to him with that same dawn of understanding in her eyes. Yes. Yeah. Exactly it.

"So that's where we start," Shaw agrees, giving him a congratulatory look, then turning back to Beckett. "We treat Ben Conrad as the first victim in this case."

Kate seems to see the logic in it now, he thinks. She's got that case-cracking-wide-open look in her eyes: a look more amazing than Shaw's, less crafty, more. . .awed. Like a kid.

"And then we find out where he intersected with our killer," Kate says triumphantly. It's both apology to him and a renewal of energy, Castle thinks. Hopes.

"All right, I'll get my team to start a work-up of Conrad's personal history. Grunt work, really, so Beckett, you and Castle take this time to. . .get cleaned up." Shaw gives Kate a raised eyebrow and a thorough up and down.

Castle feels like protesting, but if he does, Kate won't leave either. Kate should leave.

"I'm good-" Kate starts.

"FBI orders," Shaw says, and tosses Kate a wave of her hand as she exits the conference room, yelling over her shoulder. "Don't make me kick you off this case."

Castle glances to Beckett, watches her spine slump just a little. "You should. . .shower. Do you have clothes to change into?"

She gestures to the bullpen. "In my desk." Castle watches her set her jaw again and glance at Shaw's retreating back. "You and Jordan Shaw are pretty close there, Castle."

Close? "She makes sense. She's smart about this. And she didn't just get her place blown up."

"You think I can't do my job just because-"

"No!" Castle starts towards her, but she steps back. "That's not what I meant."

Kate's hair, still in the french braid he fumbled through in the ambulance, frames her face, highlights the depth of the lines, the smooth, sharp planes on her cheekbones, the shadows. Living in the shadows.

She rolls her shoulders under the jacket and shakes her head. She looks like she's going to cry, and that makes Castle fumble towards her.

"Beth is my sister," she says suddenly, turns her head to stare him down.

She's exhausted and beautiful. How does she do that? "Beth is. . .?"

Kate brushes her hand away, as if to indicate some far off place. "Not here. She's something of a nomad."

"Do you know where she lives now?"

"The last postcard I got from her. . .France. But who knows."

"Kate, you don't have to tell me," he says roughly. He can't help reaching out to tug on her jacket, trying to bring her closer. She stumbles a bit, but holds her ground.

"I should tell you. It's not a secret-"

"Coulda fooled me."

She glares at him, but her spine is straighter. "Beth is my younger sister. She and I. . .don't always get along. She's kinda the black sheep of the fam-" She stutters to a stop, squeezes her eyes shut. "The family."

Oh. Castle closes his hand over her shoulder and tugs harder, gets her enough off-balance that she comes into his embrace this time. Her shoulders rise and fall under his grip, but she's silent.

So her sister is the black sheep, her sister. . .what? Didn't react to their mother's death the way Kate expected her to? Turned to drugs and wild living in her grief? Something's there, he can tell by the set of her shoulders, the struggle over her face; there's a story to this.

And then she steps back from him. "I need to call my dad. The explosion will be all over the news."

"We have a few hours before the morning news," Castle says. He wishes she'd tell him more, but getting private information out of Kate Beckett requires limitless patience and careful planning. "You can stay with him?"

"Of course," Kate says, her face masked in a frown.

"Really? You'll really stay with your dad? Because you can come with me-"

"No. No," she shakes her head at him and backs further away. "I'm good. I'll shower and stuff here, and then call him."

Castle rubs at his face, the stubble like grains of sand under his palm. "I need a shave. And Alexis keeps texting me."

Beckett's eyes close briefly; she sways and he reaches out and catches her. Kate brings her arms up and breaks his grip. "Go home, Castle. I should've-" She shakes her head at him again. "Go home, see Alexis."

He doesn't want to leave. Suddenly, he doesn't want to leave her alone, not even for a second. But she's got to call her dad, and he needs to be a good father right now himself and get home.

And he knows how much comfort a dad can bring. She'll make it. She will.

"In a few hours, then?"

"You can take your time-"

"A few hours, Kate."


	4. Chapter 4

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by** Sandiane Carter **and** chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>AU : Assuming all things are equal, the watch is for the life she saved; the ring is for the life she lost; but the bracelet is for the life she misses.<p>

* * *

><p>Hot water pounds on the sore muscles of her back, of her neck, working wonders, and the detective has never been so glad that they redid this area of the precinct only a few years back. It was hell at the time, the constant noise of the drilling that echoed through the whole building (she was already working in Homicide, though, which was a lot better than being down in Vice), but boy, was it worth it.<p>

Only then does she allow herself to think back on tonight, on the fact that Castle, some way or other, found out about Beth. Hell, that she willingly told him about Beth. Even the warm water can't do anything for the painful spot in her chest that is claimed by her sister, that hole dug by absence and an unwillingness to forgive.

This is too much, too much to be thinking about when she hasn't slept, when a serial killer has fixated upon her. She drives her thoughts down another road, one she believes to be safer.

Her dad will not be thrilled to hear about her apartment, but at least she knows how to handle him. And he won't mind having her over. She cringes to think of the time it'll take her to get there, but this will save her the expense of a hotel room. And since she's already gonna need to find a new apartment, furnish said apartment... Yep, her dad's it is.

It's only reluctantly that Kate steps out of the shower, dries herself with the spare towel she keeps in her locker. Shaw's probably waiting, however, along with the guys; and after she calls her dad, the detective has a goddamn serial killer to catch.

And catch him she will.

* * *

><p>"Hey. Dad."<p>

"Katie, it's early."

She glances to the clock in the locker room, surprised to see just how early it is. She's been up for so long now that time has already gone back around to early again. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to warn you-"

"I already know, sweetheart."

She blinks, running her hand through her still-wet hair. It's not in a french braid any more, of course, and she kind of misses it. She still keeps finding bits of her apartment in her hair, debris and dust. "How did you find out?"

"She always. . .comes here first, Katie. I know I should've-"

"Wait. What?" She shakes her head, frowning at her cell phone. She pops out of the women's locker room and heads into the hallway, zipping up her leather jacket. All she had in her locker was a workout shirt with spaghetti straps, but at least it has the built-in shelf bra. "Dad. What are you talking about?"

"Your sister. Beth is here at the house."

Beth is at the house. "Oh."

"Wait, what did you call to warn me about?"

"Uh." She plops down on the top of the stairs; she's just about run out of all that reserve energy, adrenaline is gone, and she's ready to crash. "My apartment was bombed. But I'm okay."

"Oh my God."

"I'm okay."

"Katie-"

"I'm okay, Dad."

Third time's the charm. It always is with him. He lets out a long breath and sighs disappointedly. "What's going on, sweetheart?"

"The FBI is looking for someone. A killer."

"And?"

"And he was setting a trap. But Castle figured it out before anything happened."

"Before anything-?" Her father snorts into the phone. "Your apartment was blown up!"

"But I told you. I'm okay. I promise."

"Where are you right now?"

"At the 12th, Dad. The Captain put a security detail on me-"

"Which you'll use. You'll use it, Kate."

"I will," she promises with a sigh. She wasn't planning on it, but now. . .

"Beth is right here. Do you want to-"

"No." She rubs at her forehead. "Dad, this has been a really long day-"

"Beth is different now, Katie-"

"Dad." She knows she sounds petulant, like a child, but she just can't do this right now. "Not right now."

"She visits me a couple times a year, Kate. She calls. She misses you. I know she'd love to talk-"

"Dad. I really, really can't. I can't."

Kate leans her head against the stair railing and pulls the phone away from her ear. She can hear her father still trying to convince her, but she won't. She can't. Not right now. If she has to dig into this wound, dredge it up, she's not sure she can recover.

So she ends the call in the middle of her father's plea.

Looks like she's bunking at the 12th.

* * *

><p>Seeing Alexis, as always, is like being bathed in pure, salutary light when he's spent the whole night in the dark, both literally and figuratively speaking.<p>

Even when Rick hits the shower, the sweet concern of his daughter continues to shine on him, and the shadows retreat, inch by inch. Beckett doesn't have that; she doesn't even have a home. She has to shower at the precinct, instead of getting a hug from his wonderful kid, instead of the shelter, the privacy of one's own apartment.

He wants her to stay with him. If for some reason she can't, or won't, stay at her dad's, he'll have to insist, prod and poke until she gives in. Better yet, he can talk to Montgomery. She'll probably hate him, but at least she'll be safe. Cared for.

Castle feels better after making that decision. It gives him renewed energy, lifts his spirits – which, if he's honest, is rather necessary considering he has only slept for like an hour. He grabs some food on the way out, the first things he can get his hands on. Crackers, and an apple. That'll have to do.

Kate probably hasn't eaten anything either, he realizes. Except that junk food they sell at the precinct. Well, along with coffee he can buy a bear claw, and a muffin. Muffins for everyone, actually, because Ryan and Esposito deserve it just as much.

He makes a detour to stop at this little coffee shop that makes the best bear claws (those got an almost-moan from Beckett once, and he's been trying to repeat the experience ever since). Alas, they're closed – an "emergency", the sign on the door says, and Castle stares at it mournfully, then looks around like a lost puppy.

The other coffee shop she really likes isn't close exactly, and he already stopped at the jeweler he knows and likes, near his loft, to give them her father's watch for repair. This is time he could be spending at the precinct. Alright. There's a very good bakery right at the corner – he can buy food there, and rely on the break room machine for coffee. There's a reason why he bought that thing, after all.

Only fifteen minutes later, Castle walks into the precinct with a full bag of sweet-scented pastries. When he pushes the button, the elevator doors open on Ryan and Esposito; the guys say hi and barely wait for his invitation before they start digging into the food.

"Bro, seriously," Javier exclaims through a mouthful. "I'm not sure why Beckett hasn't married you already. This? This is heaven, Castle."

"Agreed," Ryan concurs softly, looking at the cupcake he's holding like he wants to marry it. "I'd marry you in a heartbeat, Castle."

"Jeez, guys, thanks for the love," the writer smirks, wishing the way to Kate's heart was as simple as the way is to their hearts – or should he say stomachs? He's being a hypocrite, he thinks with a tiny smile. The first thing that attracted him to Beckett (okay, other than her gorgeous eyes and smoking hot body) was the multi-layered personality that she let him catch only glimpses of.

"Speaking of Beckett –" he says, itching to get back to her now that he's fed her teammates.

"Right," Kevin answers, swallowing the last of the cream with a blissful expression. "She crashed in the break room like ten minutes ago. As long as Shaw is busy elsewhere, might as well let her get some sleep, you know? She looked like she needed it."

Rick nods, taking in the information, trying to hide his unhappiness at Kate's sleeping on the uncomfortable couch that he wouldn't even sit on.

"Where are you guys headed?"

"Talking to Ben Conrad's sister," Esposito shrugs. "In case she's had any contact with our unnamed killer."

The writer wishes them luck, steps past them to get into the elevator. In a swift move, Ryan grabs another one of the cupcakes, his arm barely escaping the trap of the shutting doors. He hears the detective's partner exclaiming, "And you call me a pig –" and chuckles as he leans against the back wall, his mind up in Homicide already, with Kate.

She really is sleeping on the break room couch. Her knees are drawn up against her chest, her head in an awkward position, twisted to rest on the back of the couch. Her neck is gonna be painful when she wakes up. Her arms were probably loosely wrapped around her knees; they've fallen to her sides now.

Castle hovers, hesitates, eager to move her into a more comfortable position, to brush his hand against her cheek. At least she showered, and changed. Her hair looks soft and shiny, even in the artificial precinct light.

She's still beautiful, slumped in exhaustion, all sharp lines even in the slackness of sleep.

In the end he decides against moving her; she would probably wake, and her sleep matters more than potential soreness. She's probably sore already, anyway.

She is *so* sleeping at his place tonight. He won't take no for an answer. He's got security, and he's certainly closer to the precinct than her dad is. Even though he has, in fact, no idea where Jim Beckett lives.

Stealthily retreating out of the break room, Castle pulls the door closed, protective of Kate's rest. Then he walks back to her desk, shuffles through the papers that litter it. He's at a loss what to do here. Jordan is nowhere to be seen, the FBI agents look like they're busy and in no need of his unput.

Well, he's got a good ten minutes here, right? He could go out again for coffee. There's this nice enough shop, right out of the precinct. And he still has his coat on.

Rick tucks the bag of pastries under Kate's desk (he learned his lesson after that time he left a bag of Chinese food unattended for fifteen minutes, and came back to find it all but empty), and he heads out again, anxious to move, to be useful, to _do_ something.

To help.

* * *

><p>There's a commotion at the entrance of the precinct when Castle walks back in. He doesn't pay much attention to it at first, because his eyes are on the text he just got from Alexis, but then he hears Kate's name and looks up, suddenly interested.<p>

The uniform at the desk is telling a dark-haired woman that she cannot go in without providing him with a driver's license or some identification. The woman has her back to him, but she looks vaguely familiar.

"Why the hell would I need an ID?" she exclaims. "I just want to see her, talk to her."

"Miss," the red-haired cop says sternly, "I cannot let you in..."

"Yeah? Well watch me," the young woman retorts challengingly, and she spins on her heels, beelining for the stairs.

Except, well, Castle is in her way. By some miracle he manages to hold on to the coffee cups, even though his phone lands on the floor with a sound that doesn't bode well.

The woman finds her balance again, her hand resting on his forearm as she apologizes.

Whatever she says, it's lost on Rick. He can only stare, speechless, stunned.

She's Beckett. But at the same time, she's not. The line of the jaw is softer, rounder; she's a little shorter than Kate, by an inch maybe. Her hair is wavier, though the chestnut shade is identical. But the large green eyes, the high cheekbones, the surprised, tentative smile?

Oh, man. They're the exact same.

Why is there no air left in the room?

"You know that woman, Castle?" The uniform – Flannigan's his name – asks, pulling him out of his bewildered trance. Thank God for Jerry Flannigan.

"Ah, uh. Yeah," Rick says, watching the woman's brow furrow slightly.

Beth's brow. He has absolutely no doubt who she is, even if Kate said her sister was in France when she heard of her last. Hell of a coincidence, that said sister shows up here only ten hours after he first learns of her existence.

Can Flannigan not see the striking likeness? Castle is blinded by it, silenced, awed.

"She wants to see Beckett, but I have specific orders, what with that serial killer running around..."

"That's okay, Jerry," the writer answers mechanically, unable to take his eyes off Beth's face, and the nervous, uneasy look that crosses it at the mention of Not-Conrad. "I'll take her."

Flannigan mutters a thanks and goes back to his desk, leaving Rick standing in the hallway with Kate's sister. Who tilts her head, interest shining in her green eyes.

He's so screwed. Two Becketts? He'll never survive this.

"You're Richard Castle, the author," Beth says softly, something like awe in her voice.

"And you're Beth, the sister," he replies stupidly, unable to think of something else.

She smiles then, an intrigued, joyful smile that sets her completely apart from Kate. He's *really* grateful for that, for the great gulp of air it allows him to suck in.

"How do you know my name?" She asks, sounding pleased with the fact, and not freaked out in the least.

Oh, that's good. If she can keep doing that, can keep reminding him that she isn't Kate, he might just make it.

"I'm friends with Beckett. Kate," he amends, after clearing his throat. Using her first name without permission is a little like breaking the law – you know it's wrong, but you can't help the thrill of excitement that comes with it. (Kinda like that time, with the horse...)

"Oh, are you?"

The teasing in her voice, the laughing light in her eye – she's making fun of him, isn't she? How much does she know?

"And Katie talks about me?" She wonders aloud. "Well, that's a surprise."

Castle opens his mouth to say something, maybe tell her that he didn't know she existed until last night, but his phone chimes, calling for attention. He looks around, realizes the device is still on the floor, where it landed after the collision.

He bends over to grab it, balancing the coffees in his left hand. He feels them slipping just when his fingers connect with his phone; he makes a desperate attempt to settle the weight of the cups, but Beth has them already.

She smiles, gestures for him to look at his phone while she holds the coffee. Castle glances at her, startled, grateful. She's not Kate, obviously.

But the text message is. _Did you leave anything inside the bakery, Castle? And where did you go?_

A grin spreads on his face. At least she found the bear claws. He quickly types, _Be back in a minute. I went for coffee_, presses send, and finds Beth staring at him curiously.

Right.

"You know," he starts hesitantly, "Now might not be the best time if you wanna see Kate. We're sort of, in the middle of an investigation, and she's...focused, if you know what I mean."

A shadow falls on the young woman's face for a second. "Oh, trust me, I know."

The desire to get back to Beckett wars with the need to dig for Beth's meaning. But Castle swallows the questions that fill his mouth, pockets his phone. Unfortunately, Kate's sister doesn't look ready to give up.

"But I just want to see her for a few minutes," she insists. "Just tell her I miss her, and I'm glad she's okay, and I..." she seems to realize that she's just met Rick, and a mixture of shyness and amusement dances in her eyes. "You know."

Is that a blush on her cheeks?

"I do know," he answers quickly, before he can be overpowered by this charming Almost-Kate. "Really, I understand, but... Kate has barely slept at all. And things at the precinct aren't exactly ideal at the moment. Not to mention, you know, the serial killer we're chasing."

Beth nods slowly, not bothering to hide her disappointment. Again, unlike Kate. Rick is almost having fun now – it's like playing "spot the difference".

"But she's all right?" Beth asks, and her green eyes fix on him, demand the truth. Like Kate's.

"As all right as she can be, in this situation," he answers honestly. "But I'm working on it," he adds with a wink, pointing to the coffee.

The young woman hands the tray back to him and gives him a half-hearted smile, biting on her lower lip. Ah. So *that's* a family trait.

"Will you –" Beth trails, wavers. "Will you tell her I stopped by?" The words come out fast, bundled together, like they will be less noticeable this way.

"I will," Castle assures her warmly, feeling a surge of affection for this younger, more unsure version of Beckett. "I promise."

"And, maybe... Maybe you can take my number? Give it to her?"

"Sure." He takes out his phone again, hands it to her. "Just put it in there. I'll do the rest."

He thinks for a second, adds, "Do you want mine? Just in case?"

Her eyes dart from the screen to his face, eyebrows shooting up. "That...would be great, actually. Thanks." She smiles again, wide and unrestrained, and the writer finds himself longing to see that exact expression on Kate's face.

When they've exchanged numbers, he watches her walk away for a couple of seconds before he hurries inside, all too aware that keeping his Beckett waiting will do nothing to help with her mood. The surreal encounter with Beth lingers at the back of his mind for a moment, before the case takes precedence, along with concerns of poor lighting, lack of area rugs, and the difficulty of being a Knicks fan.


	5. Chapter 5

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>AU : Assuming all things are equal, the watch is for the life she saved; the ring is for the life she lost; but the bracelet is for the life she misses.<p>

* * *

><p>"Castle, you are not allowed to buy something in every bar," she hisses, slapping his hand as he reaches up to signal the bartender.<p>

"But I feel bad," he whispers back. "In and out and not getting anything?"

"Tough. Get used to it. Tell your rich-boy conscience to take a backseat." Kate hooks her arm through his and starts tugging him backwards, heading for the doors. He stumbles back and twists around, but somehow, and she's not sure exactly how he does it, he's still got his arm hooked through hers when they get to the sidewalk.

"Like you?" Castle says suddenly, squinting at the morning light. "Ignore my conscience for the sake of urgency?"

Beckett slides her sunglasses down on her nose, adjusts them as Castle puts his shades on as well. She ignores his comment and checks the list of sports bars on her phone. She has no idea what Castle is rattling on about. That's the way it is with him sometimes. Left field.

"I know you're frustrated we're not looking into Gloria Rodriguez's murder."

Her hand squeezes around her phone. The case is still smeared with soot she can't get off the rubbery exterior.

"I know you are, Beckett. But the best chance we have of catching Gloria Rodriguez's killer is by looking at Conrad as the first victim. You know that."

Beckett uses her thumb to scroll down the list, but he's right. Her frustration is barely kept in check; it feels wrong to ignore Gloria now, a woman who was just walking home from work, in the wrong place at the wrong time, a woman who died in Kate's place. Because she lived.

"Fresh evidence, Castle. Instead of days' old evidence. And it was a last-minute murder; he's angry with me and he lashed out. So he's gonna make mistakes. And here we are trudging through bars on the off-chance we get lucky."

"Trudging through bars was your idea," Castle reminds her. "And it's a good one. I'm actually kind of suprised Shaw didn't want to put more guys on it-"

"I've got Esposito and Ryan running point on the Rodriguez case, despite her, so she's punishing me." Kate gives him a look out of the side of her sunglasses, waits to see how he takes that. "Grunt work."

"She's not punishing you." Castle's immediate defensive is sour in her mouth. She stalks away from him, heading for the next closest bar. He continues as he follows her. "I don't think that's the case. I think she's just trying to cover all the bases. She didn't seem too put out that we made her wait for Esposito and Ryan to cover the crime scene last night."

"Oh, she wasn't happy," Kate said, stopping at a light to wait for the signal to cross. She can see Bull's Head Pub a few doorways down, people outside under a green and beige awning; it's next on her list.

"She just does things differently." Castle hurries to catch up with her; she can feel him at her right side as they cross the street. "She builds a profile and takes a look at it psychologically. You build a timeline and take a look at it-"

"With evidence? With actual facts, Castle?" Kate snorts at him and shakes her head. "This is a long-shot, but it's what we've got to do. I was a uniform long enough to know how to take orders."

"Jeez, Kate. Bitter much?"

Kate spins around to stare at him, caught off-guard by his comment. But Castle is reading a text message on his phone while they walk, and he chuckles under his breath.

"Seriously? Text giggling? Who's the latest deep-friend twinkie?" She doesn't know why this is coming out of her mouth, she only knows that she can't stop it. Kate digs her nails into her palms and grits her teeth, ignores the way her heart pounds.

This is not jealousy. This is misplaced anger about the way this case is being handled.

"No, actually, it's Beth."

"What the hell, Castle?"

His head jerks up from his phone, deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. "Uh. I-"

"My sister?"

"Uh, yes?"

"My sister just texted you." Behind her, the usual crowd of pedestrians pushes, carrying her forward. She snags Castle's sleeve to keep him with her, glaring at him.

"I was supposed to, uh, tell you."

"Tell me what?" She steps up next to a nail salon, pulls Castle out of the flow of traffic. Her thigh is starting to throb where the stitches pull; she can't imagine why her sister is texting Castle. Or rather, she *can* imagine, and she doesn't like it. At all.

"You know, you and Beth look exactly alike," he says, his face expressive and. . .and awestruck.

Oh damn. "Castle." She sounds like she's choking. Her throat has closed up, and suddenly she feels every tug of the stitches in her forearm too, as well as the wound on her inside thigh. She's got bruised ribs and her head still aches, her ears still ring, and she has to close her eyes.

Sports bars. Ben Conrad. She can't deal with this right now. "Why don't you head back to the station? Let me-"

"What? No." Castle grips her upper arm with a sudden fireceness that makes her open her eyes again. Her head is spinning. She needs more caffeine. "Beckett. I met Beth downstairs at the 12th. She was looking for you."

Beth was looking for her? "What?"

"I promised her I'd relay the message."

"What message?"

"That she wanted to see you."

"No. Not - I can't do that right now. We've got so little time, Castle. Every second counts. We need to go-"

She's grateful that Castle doesn't keep hold of her arm, lets her walk off down the sidewalk towards the Bull's Head. She feels, rather than hears, him following along behind her. When she reaches for the door, Castle grabs it instead, holds it open for her.

She lets him.

As she passes him to go inside the dimly lit bar, Castle leans in and says, "We'll talk about this later."

Her mouth goes dry.

* * *

><p>He's aware – oh, so aware – that he could have found a better way to tell Beckett. *Should* have found a better way. But she caught him off guard, caught him chuckling over Beth's text (the irony being that said text was about Kate, was only Beth asking if the coffee she saved had helped improve her sister's mood), and... And it spilled out.<p>

Some days, he wishes he could have some of that iron-clad control, that tight rein that Kate always seems to keep on her emotions. If they were more evenly balanced, if she was a little less strict, and he was a little more...

No, that's bullshit. Despite the looks of it, he's not much more open than she is; he jokes and teases and shows up with coffee to show her that he cares, but he never says the words, does he?

He might need to, have to, one of these days. He didn't like the glint in her eyes when he told her how alike they are, she and Beth. Rick can be pretty obtuse sometimes, but he knows what that look is.

And he doesn't want Kate Beckett to believe he is...what, hitting on her sister? God, that feels wrong. Sick. He would never, ever, go after Beckett's sister. Yes, Beth is beautiful, and she seems nice, but hell, it's only the resemblance to Kate that got him earlier. And when that wore off, curiosity took over, because Beth is an aspect of Kate's life that he had no idea existed until yesterday, and he's _dying_ to know.

The writing monster inside him has reared its eager head, demanding information, details, raw material to spin the story.

But if Kate thinks... Damn. He needs to set things straight, to explain, clarify. But the case is taking all the space between them when they ride back to the precinct, Beckett's eyes dark and intent on the list of cab companies (only five of them) that the barmaid of the Bar/Grill gave them; and now is just not a good time.

He wants this case over and done with. He wants a moment alone with Kate, his friend; he doesn't want a hushed conversation with Robocop-Beckett at the precinct.

"Not. Now. Castle." She growls when he tries to bring it up, against his best instincts, as they walk back into the precinct. He sighs, slumps a little, lets it go. He doesn't know where to start, anyway. Kate and Beth? Beth and himself? Jordan?

Actually, that thing with Shaw has been going on for far too long. It might have been cute at first, Beckett going all, "You're supposed to be on my team", but not anymore. If jealousy is really the reason why Kate won't cooperate fully with Jordan Shaw, then it's got to stop. Now. Before it can hurt their investigation.

In the elevator, Castle summons his courage to turn to the detective. Her jaw is set, her chin up and fierce, but there's a flicker of fear in the midst of all that anger burning in her green eyes.

"Castle."

It's a threat, cold and deadly under the smooth tones.

He disregards it.

"You know, of the three of you? Shaw, the smart board, and you? I'd pick you every time." He waggles his eyebrows at her, hoping to dispel some of her irritation.

Kate's eyes are wide, but she's carefully keeping her face neutral, clean of any indication as to what she feels, and damn – he can't read her at all. Fine then.

"Although, to be honest, that smart board is sooo sexy."

And then she does break, her eyes narrowing as if to offset the crack in her demeanor: the curl of her lip, a tiny victory.

"You gonna give the smartboard your number too, Romeo?"

Ah, that stings a little. "Only the Beckett ladies get my number."

"I noticed."

Ha. He has her there. "I noticed you noticing." It's not that he wants Beckett jealous, it's just that this is what they do, how they communicate, the patterns they fall into. "It was kinda hot."

She rolls her eyes at him as the elevator trudges upward. A joyful ding signals their arrival on the Homicide floor, and Castle walks out first, too nervous to look at Beckett's face.

"I like cool toys. But after awhile, you know, I get tired of them-" he starts, letting her catch up with him in the hallway.

"I've noticed that too."

Something in her voice, tight and controlled, sends his eyes her way, surprised. She thinks he's talking about her? "The smart board, Kate? It's a flash in the pan. A toy. Toys get easily broken. I'm not looking for toys. I don't want easily broken. I want something that will last."

His heart pounds as he says it. It's too much. It's more than should be said inside the precinct, isn't it? He's always tried to follow her unspoken rules, somewhat. Mostly. But now he's gone and broken them, well and truly broken them.

It's made worse by her silence. She doesn't even look at him.

He knows he is right, if only in part, but he already regrets his passionate outburst. Reason, not passion, is the way to make Kate listen.

He snorts inwardly. If he really does believe that, then why is he still here?

* * *

><p>"West Village, corner of Varick and Downing." They stand in front of the large map hanging up at the back of the bullpen, studying the blocks and blocks and blocks possibilities. The cab driver dropped off Conrad's new friend at the corner of Varick and Downing.<p>

"You know, I bet there's 50,000 people who live within walking distance of that corner."

Castle glances over at Beckett; she looks frustrated in the extreme, and he wonders how much of that is his fault, for pushing her on the elevator. She eyes the map as if it holds all the answers.

"We could canvas local businesses," he offers.

She works her jaw. "For an average-looking white guy?"

He knows she's throwing his words back at him, from earlier this morning, last night? when they'd been going through the photos of the crime scene crowd.

She sighs. "I mean, we can't even be sure what he looks like."

Does he imagine the apology there?

"Looks aren't the only method we have to identify him; we also have behavior."

Castle turns, sees Jordan Shaw standing before them like a prophetess, her hair flaming. He's always had a thing for red-heads, (probably says something about his relationship with his mother), but Jordan looks both completely in control of things, and also slyly knowing as she walks towards them.

"*You* can identify him through behavior?" He sounds disbelieving. Maybe Kate's attitude is rubbing off on him.

Shaw narrows her eyes at him, goes into mentor-professor mode. "Well, originally his behavior seemed inconsistent, but that was because he was pretending to be someone else. We know a lot more now." Her eyebrows arch, her face expressive and pleased.

Castle is willing to listen; he sits down at the conference table in front of the map and watches with a still frustration as Shaw tosses list after list of organizations and groups at him. Beckett takes them from his hands before he can even study them, but she seems more grudgingly respectful of Shaw than before.

Castle flips through the listing of magazines and periodcals that Shaw has given him. It's just too much information, too many patterns of behavior to even begin. "I get half of these," he notes.

"Yes, and you also kill people for a living," she smirks.

Castle glances up at her, stunned.

"In your books," she finishes.

"Pretty wide net," Kate throws out, the doubtfulness clear in her voice.

But Shaw has a point, and she's making these assumptions that, on the surface of things, seem like leaps of logic rather than actual, hard evidence. Which Castle knows that Kate needs, that evidence. Still, Shaw seems to have a method to all this madness.

As they head into the FBI's war room, however, Kate looks reluctantly interested, and Castle can't help but be impressed as Avery loads the puzzle pieces into the machine. Each group or organization or vector (like Varick and Downing) seems an impossibly large target, but when Avery starts adding them together, they have faint lines of overlap.

Circles overlapping circles. Castle's jaw drops as they slowly begin narrowing it down. In minutes, seconds, they have 17 hits.

Seventeen down from thousands.

Damn. Castle leans in, but Kate is hanging back still. He glances at her as Avery growls at the computer.

"Well at least we gave it a shot," Shaw says, but she sounds pretty pleased. Seventeen is a place they can start, a toehold on the mountain of information. Seventeen is do-able.

Castle feels his phone vibrate and slides it out of his pocket. Beth. He glances to Kate but she's watching Avery now; Avery is saying something about starting background checks and interviews with the 17 candidates.

He quickly texts Beth back. _We're gonna have a long day of it. Probably leave here around 7 or so. Sorry. I did tell her._

Avery has called up something on the smartboard and Kate has walked up close, peering at it. Even Shaw looks excited.

". . .died six years ago."

"He's living under a stolen identity," Kate says. Castle can hear it in her voice, the chase, and he perks up, stepping closer himself.

"So does it say where our dead guy supposedly lived?" Shaw is standing over Avery as he calls up the information.

"His address puts him half a block from from Downing and Varick." Avery has the apartment on the board now, pinpointed, with the satellite image laid over the neighborhood grid.

Kate, her back to Castle as she stands entranced in front of the smartboard, slowly nods her head. "Okay. Now, I'm officially impressed."

They have their guy.

* * *

><p>The pages hanging from the ceiling, the pictures of herself decorating that Nikki Heat wall – Kate feels the blood freeze in her veins, has to remind herself to keep moving. Some of the pictures are snap-shots of her in the street, working cases, which means...<p>

Which means he followed her. Her stomach rebels against the thought, but she's expecting it, and she's ready. She controls her emotions with a firm hand, like a trainer with a wild, jittery horse, talks herself down.

It becomes harder when she realizes he painted her face on the wall. Sure, it's a sort of disgusting collage, with headlines and smaller pictures arranged into it, but her face is definitely painted over the papers. God.

And all the articles, and the pictures. The breach of her privacy leaves her breathless, dazed, brittle with anger. As if her blown-up apartment wasn't enough. As if the previous three murders weren't enough. That man took Nikki Heat and dragged her name through the mud, covered it in blood.

It sparks absolute fury inside her. She's going to catch the son of a bitch, and hell, when she does... He's going to pay. Oh, yes. She will make him pay.

Kate feels Castle's presence at her side, tries to tone down the red-hot anger that throbs through her with every heartbeat. Her eyes stop on a San Francisco _Daily Ledger_ headline, and there it is, just what she needs. A different focus.

"He's done this before," she realizes aloud, the rage inside her receding, shrinking into a tight knot against her ribs.

And her brain starts working again, the embers of passion put out by the cold efficiency of her reasoning as she listens to Shaw and Castle, collects her own data, makes her own connections.

This is why she loves her job. And no crazy psychopath will ever take this away from her.


	6. Chapter 6

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Beckett and Castle get out of the building with Shaw and most of the agents, leaving only a handful of them to set a trap for "Doherty". They're mostly in the way as Jordan coordinates the surveillance of the building, so they stand back, the writer still flipping through the pages of the manuscript he took.<p>

Kate isn't sure she likes the expression on his face. He looks...grave. Thoughtful. The detective has mixed feelings about Thoughtful-Castle.

"Wanna go grab some coffee?" She asks, both because she needs it and because she wants to distance herself from all this – Doherty's unholy temple to Nikki Heat, the arrest that they had better not screw up.

Besides, the FBI agents around them may be very skilled and professional, but it's as far as it goes. No one would ever describe those guys as friendly. Which is why a moment with Castle alone sounds pretty appealing right now.

He shoots a surprised look at her, but nods his agreement after half a second, and closes the manuscript. _Dead Heat_. The words taste sour in Kate's mouth.

"Bring me back a cup?" Shaw calls to them, pausing in the middle of her instructions.

"Sure," Beckett agrees. The request leaves her absurdly pleased, because it seems to lift the veil concealing Jordan's humanity. With this simple question, Shaw becomes a human being, not just this super-FBI agent who can read the minds of serial killers. Kate is suddenly reminded of the fact that the woman has a daughter.

She wonders what Shaw's life is like.

Castle is uncharacteristically silent and brooding next to her. It doesn't suit him. She'd rather bite her tongue than admit this out loud, but she's gotten used to his exuberance, somewhere along the way. It went from annoying to distracting to, well, rather endearing. And now, she just… She needs it.

She elbows him lightly, shows him a fugitive smile.

"You okay over here?"

When he doesn't immediately answer with a joke, a leering glance, or a lie, Kate's heart plummets.

"Castle."

She meant it gentle, but anxiety gives a sharper edge to her voice.

"Yeah, yeah," he assures her quickly, avoiding her eyes with a sigh. "I'm fine. It's just, you know. His apartment."

Beckett does know, but she's not sure why he is so upset. She knows what her deal with the pictures was, but why Castle would – oh. Does this have to with the serial killer's twisted use of Nikki? Does the writer feel guilty about inventing her in the first place?

"What about it?" She asks in a low voice, as she pushes the door to the coffee shop and holds it for her shadow.

"I…" The author rubs a hand against the back of his neck, following her when she gets in line. "The pages everywhere. That just...reminded me of my younger days. My first novel. It's hard to –" he pauses, steps nearer to Kate. She realizes it's because he doesn't want to be overheard, but she can still feel the proximity down to the tip of her toes.

"It's hard to remember what the difference is between me and this guy," he whispers. "Shaw said it. I kill people for a living."

"In _fiction_, Castle," Beckett retorts immediately, cursing Shaw and her sloppy phrasing. "You don't walk around with a gun and decide to play God. You have nothing in common with this guy."

Is it normal that she feels insulted on his behalf?

"Don't I, though?" He answers hesitantly. "He writes about murder. I write about murder. We subscribe to the same magazines –"

"So what, Castle? All clever people are murderers in your book?"

It must really bother him, if he doesn't even puff up in pride when she calls him clever. But they've reached the counter at this point, so Kate has to let it go for a moment, order drinks and pay and smile in thanks.

And it's irritating, because this means he gets more time for gloomy thinking. If his face is any indication, he hasn't been listening to a word she said.

She will make him listen.

Beckett waits until they're outside again to step in front of him, block his way. He's so distracted that he almost spills his and Jordan's coffee on her.

"Sorry," Castle mumbles, wipes the liquid that trickles down his cup.

"You're the one being ridiculous now," Kate points out with a hint of a smile, referring to their conversation at her place, the night before it blew up. "You're no murderer, Castle. Didn't you hear Jordan? Writing is a *symptom* of his psychosis. This guy's not a writer. He's a murderer, who writes about his crimes. You are a writer. And yes, you're a little creepy sometimes, and you write mystery novels where people kill each other, but… death isn't at the core of who you are. Writing is. And you could write other stuff, if you needed to. This man, Conrad, Doherty, or whatever his name is… He couldn't stop killing, not if his life depended on it."

She watches as her little speech makes it way through the author's brain, watches the light slowly come back into his eyes. For the first time, she measures how much she'd be willing to say or do, in order to see him brighten up like this. It scares her.

"You realize you just quoted Jordan Shaw, right?" Castle points out gleefully.

He really is a child. Sulking one moment, teasing the next. But she won't say anything, because right now, it's exactly what she needs.

"See how far I'm willing to go for you, Castle? Compromising my integrity. Also, this murder thing? I'm sorry to break it to you, Rick, but you don't have it in you."

He gives her a startled look, and she realizes her mistake with a pang. What the – how can his first name have slipped out of her lips like that? Without her even being aware of it?

"You can't even resist your daughter when she gives you puppy dog eyes," Kate adds hurriedly, hoping to distract him. "Any victim of yours would just have to make a sad face at you and say, 'Please don't kill me', and you'd let them walk. You'd be a pathetic killer."

"Uh…thanks?"

Castle still looks a little stunned, but he's getting over it, smirking as he takes in her last words. Good, she thinks, relieved. Disaster averted.

"Eh, you're welcome," she shrugs. Then she tilts her head, pretends to think. "You're right, I think. There was a compliment, somewhere in there."

"What can I say? Hidden meanings cannot resist me. Oh, have I told you about the time I broke the secret code used by the military –"

Kate's phone chimes, interrupting him. They're almost back at the van, but the detective slows down, her eyes on the text she just opened.

"Who's that?" Castle asks curiously, trying to peer at it from behind her.

She hands him her phone without answering, biting deeply into her lower lip. Beth wants to meet her. Beth wants to talk to her.

Beckett closes her eyes, tries to untangle the mess of confused feelings twirling inside her. But she can't, she *can't* do this right now, a few feet away from the FBI van, with a serial killer on the run, with Castle hovering around.

She snaps her phone back, tucks it into her pocket, and takes a deep breath before heading towards Shaw.

"What are you doing?" The writer asks, following her as always. "You're not answering her?"

This is too much. Too much. Kate spins on her heels, almost crashing into her shadow. She sees him gulp, but she's too pissed to really notice.

"For once in your life, Castle," she hisses between gritted teeth. "Mind your own business."

Hurt crosses his eyes. She would take back her words, if she could – or maybe just the angry tone in which she spoke them – because for once she's aware that he's just trying to help. But it's too late anyway, and Jordan's beckoning them over; so Beckett ignores the little tug at her heart, ignores the unanswered message on her phone.

She can deal with her own ghosts later.

* * *

><p>Maybe it's stupid, oh, definitely it's stupid, but he texts Beth the moment he gets a chance.<p>

_She got your text. We're in the middle of a stakeout, kinda crazy over here, and not much time. I'm the superfluous one, I get to not pay attention ; )_

He sends it before he can think about it too long, then gets into the surveillance van behind Kate and Jordan Shaw. He's still got the manuscript clenched in one hand, his coffee in the other. He wants to sit down and make notes, because sometimes this guy's narrative veers off into true lunacy, and where else is he going to find such an authentic, psychotic voice?

Would it be considered plagiarism if he used bits and pieces of the crazy in his own novel? Damn. Yeah. Probably.

Kate is at one corner of the van, he's in the other, with Jordan manning the equipment between them. He knows they could have hours, or maybe minutes, knows that this kind of waiting could be interminable regardless of how long it actually takes.

That apartment. He still can't get it out of his head. Honestly, the mixed media portrait of Kate was. . .gorgeous. And completely disturbing. Still, the sight of her face, those planes and lines, the colors, it did something to him. Something visceral.

He's just not sure it was a good something.

Kate definitely didn't like it; she lost her normal stoicism and stared, biting her lower lip. He noticed because he couldn't help looking right to her, his gaze drawn to the horror on her face. He had the sinking feeling that if their killer saw her face, he'd be pleased.

The pages of the manuscript were strung up like slabs of beef on meathooks. That slaughterhouse of pages is a derangement of his personal murderboard at home, the one for his novels. And the wall of articles and photographs mimic Kate's meticulous attention to detail, but in a wild and frenetic manner, without boundaries, in an orgy of self-congratulation.

An orgy. That's a good term for it. Castle gets out his notebook just as his phone vibrates. Beth.

_Of course the famous mystery writer has time to write. Makes sense. Thank you. Can you be my advocate? Or is that asking too much?_

Castle feels his palms sweat immediately. Texting Beth was a huge step over Kate's lines, but to do this? Pry about her sister? Push? Get in the middle? Oh, he's asking for trouble.

Still. His memory of Beth standing in the precinct reminds him of a happier Kate. And he can't bear to ruin that.

_I'll do what I can. You know Kate. _

He leaves it at that, because really, there's nothing else to say. Not if he doesn't want extreme ire raining down on his head the moment Beckett discovers his meddling.

He puts his coffee carefully on the floor under his chair and flips through the manuscript's pages. _Dead Heat_. It makes his skin crawl. He knows what it is to feel the character under the writer's control, what it is to arrange her just so, to dwell on her, to take her into yourself and make her your own.

And Scott? Doherty, whatever his name is, he's done this to Nikki Heat; he's stolen her. And not just Nikki, but he's stolen Kate Beckett. He shadowed Kate in a way far creepier, far more malevolent than Castle ever has, but still with the same result. To the point where he's mixed fantasy and reality, where he's muralled one side of his wall with a portrait of a psychopath's muse.

No. She's not a killer's muse.

_Kate's mine._

The anger flares so suddenly that he's surprised by its speed, its richness, its element of jealousy. He's never been much of an angry guy, didn't get into many fights that didn't also have something to do with establishing his place in the hierarchy at a boarding school, but this is brutal and passionate and immediate. The need to protect what's his.

He rubs a hand down his face, tries to shake that thought off. She's not his. Would never be his. Even if she, by some miracle, did consent to. . .whatever. . .she'd still not be his. Which is how crazy she makes him, thinking in circles. His logic in circles.

No, it's this manuscript. It's making him nuts.

Problem is, really, that the guy (the killer he reminds himself) has talent. How did he get it? Who nurtured it? Where else did he apply it? At one time, this killer stood in line with a copy of Castle's own work, and Castle himself signed it. They must have had a conversation about writing, because Castle inscribed to him the age-old advice: Write what you know. Faulkner said that he discovered that he could best use his talent to explore his own little postage stamp of native soil.

And their killer has definitely been exploring his little postage stamp of death, his native soil of murder. He's managed to take what he knows and transform it into a literary manuscript. Creepy and ranting but with talent. Castle hates to admit a level of admiration for his skill. If he admires the writing, does it associate Castle with the man?

He sees a difference in admiring Faulkner's work, even knowing that Faulkner was a lifelong acoholic who was terribly unfaithful to his wife. It is different, isn't it? Admiring the unreliable narrator, the stream of consciousness technique isn't the same as admiring the alcoholism, the marital infidelity.

It's different to love Hemingway's spare prose, his scenes of the African safari or the Italian countryside during the war, while also knowing that Hemingway was a misogynist who chose to commit suicide rather than to die disgracefully and in pain.

What about that football fight song that everyone uses in public stadiums and sports arenas? After Gary Glitter was convicted of child pornography and committing obscene acts with minors, many sports leagues agreed to remove the song from their playlist. He remembers Alexis having to write an ethics paper on that song, and how the two of them talked back and forth for days about the merits of art for art's sake versus the burden of responsibility.

How have his thoughts degenerated into this? Castle can't find the chain to lead him back to the original idea. Wow, he's a lot more tired than he realized. All he knows is that this manuscript is fascinating, and that the idea of someone so reprehensible having so much talent is also. . .fascinating.

And disturbing.

He admires how black and white it is for Kate. How she sees a crime, and metes out justice to those responsible, and feels mercy for those who've been wronged. She can do that all without even thinking about it. She just knows, instinctively, who is in the right and who is wrong.

But Castle? He has trouble being firm on those things. He's more likely to understand, all too well, how a criminal has gotten where he is, how he's just made some bad decisions due to a lack of education and a dearth of opportunities. There but for the grace of God.

He wishes, sometimes, that he didn't automatically see the other side, understand the way things get so easily greyed. He wishes he didn't look at this guy's novel and think, _I wouldn't have thought to do this, here is where the plotlines weave neatly together, that's a nice turn of phrase, I wonder if he could write from jail?_

He can't help admiring it, even while he finds it disgusting. He glances up at Beckett and Shaw. "Man, it's all here: the engraved bullets, the cat-and-mouse phone calls, the cipher. Only it's Nikki Heat investigating, and she's always one step behind him."

Kate raises her eyebrow. "Till now."

"Castle. What part of un-ass don't you understand?" Shaw's voice holds an eye-roll in it if he ever heard one.

He meets Kate's eyes, looking for an answer, but she's just grinning like a Cheshire cat over her coffee. "Uh, all of it?"

Shaw slides him a sideways look. "For future reference, it means get the hell out and don't take anything."

Oooh, that's good. "Un-ass, nice." He writes that down at the top of the page; his headphones, which link him to the FBI agents, start to slip down over his ear.

He hears someone mention his name.

"Castle has the attention span of a cocker spaniel." That's Kate. Even through the headphones, even though her voice is quiet, he can pick her out any time.

"Hm. . .the way he follows you around." That was Shaw, who doesn't enunciate like Kate does, and who is turned away from him as well. He risks a glance up and Kate has a slight smirk on her face. "Unorthodox partnership works well for you."

Oh?

"For now."

Oh.

"Is it enough for you?"

Good question! Score one for Jordan. Castle keeps his pen very still over his notebook, hopes the burst of radio chatter doesn't come at an inopportune time. He wants to know Kate's answer to that question.

"Is it enough for you to hop on a Lear jet six times a year, catching serial killers. . .?"

The rest is drowned out by Avery over the radio, but Castle's feeling a little dizzy because he thinks, yeah, definitely thinks that Kate just somehow compared their relationship (their *professional* relationship) to Jordan Shaw's relationship with her family.

And that's interesting. Isn't it? That says something about where Kate's mind is on this one. She compared him to a dog, but he's kinda okay with that if, in the next breath, Kate isn't certain that what they have will be enough for her, if Kate thinks maybe, sometime in the future, she might want more.

His heart is pounding and then Avery's blasting from the radio: "Say again?"

He jerks his head up and Shaw's on the radio, looking put out. "The guy on the roof. Southeast corner. The guy with binocs."

"We don't have anybody up there."

Castle presses his hand to his headphones, excited by the sudden shift in the conversation. He sees the guy on the roof, and peers intently at the video feed even as Shaw scrambles the team.

They're blown. Un-ass. Ha. This guy made them ages ago.

Kate's jumped up, follows Shaw to the door, and gets it slammed in her face. Because she's the target.

Kate looks livid. He knows she wants this guy, badly, because of the Wall of Kate in that apartment, but he's glad she's not going out there after him. A little bit.

So he looks up at her with an innocent face. "Now you know how I feel."

Because *this* is the exciting part. And he always has to miss it.


	7. Chapter 7

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Of course, when Kate slams the door in *his* face, it's not funny anymore. He rubs his nose and deliberates, but before he can get a chance to decide whether or not to chase after Kate, he hears the FBI team over the radio racing after them.<p>

Wow, his heart is pounding so hard-

Oh, no, that's another text message.

_Can you convince Kate to let me come over? I'd be indebted. I need to see for myself that she's okay, that she doesn't hate me._

His hands tremble as he texts her back, trying to figure out what to say. Lie through his teeth or gently massage the truth?

_Kate's working. When I get a chance, I can only promise to tell her you want to come over. I doubt I can convince Kate of anything._

He gathers up his notebook, the manuscript, and wonders if he should stay in the van still. His phone vibrates and he yanks it back out of his pocket.

_I'm not trying to put you in an awkward position here. I'm glad you're such a good friend to her. It's just – she won't let me explain. I know Kate's told you her side. But I do love my father. I just didn't think he had a problem back then. Kate kept a lot of that from me, kept me the baby, and I didn't know how bad it had gotten. It sounds like an excuse, huh? That's why I need your help._

Castle stands rooted to the floor, struck dumb. Kate has told him nothing. But this. This tells him a lot.

* * *

><p>Kate barely contains her frustration when Shaw finds her. "Damn."<p>

"He got away," Shaw remarks, entirely without rancor. Without anything at all. Cold.

Kate, on the other hand, is boiling. At herself, for letting the stupid stitches in her leg slow her down, and at Shaw, for slamming the door in her face rather than letting her in on the takedown. What should have been the takedown.

"He got away," Kate agrees. "Must have the trains timed."

"I'll talk to someone about the camera coverage in here," Shaw remarks, walks off without even looking at Kate.

Damn. So close.

She's got this terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach; she's not sure why. Not just the frustration of having missed their killer, but something else is bothering her. Her leg throbs painfully, hot and angry with every pounding of her pulse.

She puts her hands on her hips, scours the subway platform, but for what, she doesn't know. She just. . .feels unsettled about this. Has felt this way since seeing the guy's lair, the wide swathe of photographs exclusively of herself. He's been following her for ages; one of those photos is from at least three weeks ago, when she ran out of her apartment to grab a newspaper from the corner store in just her yoga pants and pajama shirt.

Three weeks. She never knew. She hadn't felt it, not once. When their killer was on the roof, watching the FBI team like a puppet master, it was only Jordan Shaw's need to mentor Kate that had caused the woman to radio in to Avery.

If not for that. . .

It scares her how this man has managed to get so close. So very close.

She heads back up the platform to the escalator. When Castle rushes up to her at the top of the subway station's stairs, she's instantly chagrined by the look on his face.

"I'm fine," she says, preemptively.

"Of course you are," he pants.

"Did you run here, Castle?"

"Yeah. Whole way. Gimme a sec," he wheezes, milking it for all it's worth, leaning over to put his hands on his knees.

"Get up," she snorts, rolling her eyes at him. She knows better; she's seen him dash after a suspect before. "No one's buying your act, Castle."

He straightens, grinning at her. "You didn't get him?"

Shaw breezes up the stairway, directs another group of FBI agents down. "I won't comment on that. But I talked to a MATA officer and got us the video footage for the cameras down there."

"Where is it?" Kate asks, frowning.

Shaw gives her a stare. "It's a secure server, Kate. I have access now."

Castle gapes at her. "Just like that?"

"These are the perks of the Federal Bureau," Shaw says, eyebrow lifted, and heads back down the street. She calls over her shoulder, "You two. With me. Beckett. You are not of the hook."

Damn.

* * *

><p>Even if she's just been kicked off the case by Shaw, and expressly shooed out by the captain, Kate cannot bring herself to be mad at Castle as they walk out of the 12th that evening.<p>

Maybe it's because he said, "Yes, you do," when she argued she didn't have a home. He certainly could have timed that better – as it was, it sort of undercut the argument she was trying to have with Roy – but the words stick with her afterwards, like an oversized sweater that you're not sure what to do with, but still want to wrap around you to keep you warm.

"I'll text Alexis, ask her to wait for us. We can all have dinner together," Rick offers with a smile, and she wonders if he's doing it for her, trying to lift her spirits.

She's surprised by how little lifting her spirits need, actually. Kate parts her lips to say so, to tell him not to bother on her account, but the words die on her lips.

She goes still. Castle takes two more steps, his focus on the text that he's sending, before he realizes she's stopped and looks back at her. Some part of Beckett is aware of him, following his movements; a much bigger part, however, is devoted to the woman standing fifteen feet away.

Beth.

Kate has seen pictures, of course, so she thought she had a pretty good idea of what her sister looked like now. But it can't compare to the reality of Beth, how grown-up she looks; a woman's face, a woman's body, a woman's clothes.

A stranger.

Her sister smiles, shy but eager, as she comes forward, and this is a smile the detective remembers perfectly. A smile she's never known how to respond to, because it both irritates her and warms her heart at once.

Castle, who's reclaimed his place at her side, moves like he wants to give them some space, some privacy. Kate's hand shoots up before she's given it a conscious thought, and her fingers close tightly on the sleeve of his coat, trapping him there.

She needs him. She needs back-up, if she's going to do this. She doesn't care what he sees, what he hears. He knows so much already. So he stays.

"Kate," Beth says, her voice rough with emotion, high-pitched with delight.

Oh, that voice. They haven't spoken more than a couple times on the phone over the past ten years, and it was always so brief.

"Hi." Beckett manages to force the single syllable out, but cannot find it in herself to answer Beth's smile. She's too busy reminding herself to breathe.

Her sister stops five feet away, obviously thrown off-balance with the lack of a warmer welcome. She glances at Castle, a little nervously, and even though Kate *knows* better, it still annoys her.

That they know each other already. That she didn't get to introduce them. It still feels like they went behind her back, no matter how well the author explained this morning's events.

"I wanted to see you," Beth explains, words running together because she's speaking so fast. "I'm sorry if this isn't a good time, but Mr. Castle said you'd probably be done by six or seven, and I... Dad told me your apartment was bombed –"

She gets a point for calling him "Mr. Castle", though Kate would rather not think about the texting thing.

"So that's why you came? Because my apartment was bombed?"

Ah, this might have come out a little harsher than she intended. She feels Castle twitch under her hand, as if in warning. Beth's face falls a little, but she furrows her brow and plows ahead bravely.

"No, it's not. I came because I miss you. Because I want to talk to you. Because ten years is a long time, Katie."

Right. Pushing Beth is never a good thing; the girl might look all sweet and vulnerable, but she sure knows how to retaliate. Beckett wonders how she can have forgotten this as she fights for breath, her chest too tight, too small.

Her sister takes another step towards her.

"And I'm sorry, Kate," she pleads in a gentle, steady voice. "I'm sorry I refused to help with Dad, I'm sorry I bailed on you. But we're both to blame here. We both stood our ground, refused to consider the other's arguments. I –"

She shakes her head sadly, stares into Kate with those large green eyes that the detective sees in the mirror every day. Well, except they're not usually that shiny.

"I don't know what else to say," Beth whispers.

"I understand," Kate starts slowly, choosing her words carefully, "why you couldn't agree with me then. You've always been... Such an advocate for the freedom of the individual."

She pauses, meets her sister's eyes. She knows the memory now playing in their minds is the same: Bethie, about eight years old, marching in protest from one end of the living-room to the other, like she had seen their mother do a week earlier.

A smile trembles on Kate's lips, disappears before its existence can be attested to.

"But just because we couldn't agree, didn't mean you had to leave. Leave, and never freaking come back, Beth."

"That's not exactly true," Beth replies indignantly. "You didn't want to see me. I know I haven't been back often, but every time..."

"What was I supposed to do? Welcome you with open arms so I could watch you leave again? I know I was wrong, Bethie, but to punish me like this?"

"What?" Her sister looks completely and utterly lost. "What do you mean, punish you?"

Beckett sucks in a torturous breath, feels it burn its way down her chest. She will not cry. She will not cry. Her hand clenches on Castle's arm, tugs him closer, in a desperate quest for support.

"I did the wrong thing, after mom died," she states evenly, struggling to keep her composure. "I focused on her murder, when I should have... I should have paid more attention to you. *You* were alive, and –"

Oh, it hurts to even speak the words.

"But I neglected you, because you seemed fine, and then... You left." Kate finally closes her eyes, her last shield against those damn tears that are so intent on making it out. "You left, and I – I missed you," she confesses at last, her voice softer now.

"Oh, Kate."

That's when Beth closes the remaining distance between them, throws a bridge over that gap created by a ten years' absence and a collection of misunderstandings. Her arms wrap around the detective's waist, and her face finds shelter in Kate's neck, as it always did when they were little and one of them had been told off by their parents.

Beckett lets go of Castle's arm and hugs back, fierce and tight. Her eyes open again, find Rick's. They're bright and tender, and happy. Happy for her. Her heart swells, and swells, and it seems like her chest won't be able to contain it. The warm weight of Beth against her, the light in Castle's eyes – she wants to store this moment forever, lock it away like a treasured possession.

"Katie, you idiot," Beth exclaims, laughing through her tears. "It wasn't your fault I left. Don't you know how much I've always wanted to travel? It had even less to do with mom's death. Might have accelerated it, but... I wasn't trying to punish you! I was never as big on New York as you are. You know that. I just wanted to see more. The whole world, if I could."

"Uh. You've always had that wanderlust," Kate agrees teasingly, even though it all seems too good to be true. So the guilt she's been carrying is for nothing? Can it be that simple?

Beth must feel that she isn't completely convinced; she draws back from her embrace, looks into the detective's eyes.

"I'm not mad at you," she assures firmly, with that bright, gorgeous smile that is their mother's, without a doubt. "I don't blame you. I thought you were mad at me."

"I was at first," Beckett admits, because honesty is such a relief. "But like you said. Ten years is a long time."

"Long enough for even a stubborn girl like you to see the light?"

Kate hears Castle's chuckle even as she swats Beth's arm playfully, exclaiming, "Shut up!"

It feels incredible. Surreal.

She has her sister back. She has her sister back, and Rick Castle to thank for it.

"So, is there somewhere we could go to talk?" Her baby sister asks good-humoredly, sparkles in her green eyes. Beckett has forgotten this, too – Beth's energy, the light that shines off her. The way the world seems brighter with her in it.

"Yeah, sure. There's this place we like, that does the *best* shakes..."

"Kate," the author interrupts, his voice low.

The detective's eyes dart to Rick, surprised to find an uneasy look on his face.

"Dunn is still..."

He doesn't finish his sentence, but she can do that for him. _Out there. A threat. Trying to kill you_. Wow. The intensity of her encounter with Beth made her forget about the serial killer for a moment. That's...unusual.

"Right. Well, what do you suggest we do?" Kate asks.

Castle grins, like he's been expecting that question.

"There *is* this really nice place, not too far from here. It's called Chez Castle, and I heard the food is delicious, and the company even more delectable. Not to mention the security around the building. Do you think you ladies might be persuaded to try it?"

Of course, he has to wiggle an eyebrow. Beckett is, however, too happy to even roll her eyes. She exchanges a glance with her sister, before turning a sultry look to Castle.

"Persuade away, Rick."


	8. Chapter 8

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Beth carries a bag with her; Castle takes it from her. "Are we having a sleepover?"<p>

Kate rolls her eyes this time, like she's been waiting for another chance to make up for the one she missed.

Beth laughs though, that delightful Beckett-sounding laugh. "I brought some clothes for you, Katie. Dad said your apartment is toast."

And then Kate laughs, and it's like surround sound as Castle walks a little ahead of them, trying to signal a cab, the sidewalk filled with their complimentary laughter. It's not even that funny, or that cute, but he stands there until they catch up to him, just watching.

Kate turns warm eyes to him, her focus shifts with it and those eyes, which were amused before, turn nearly tender. "Close your mouth, Castle. Catching flies." But even the tone of her voice is tender, and if he was standing slack-jawed before, that does little to remedy the situation now.

A cab pulls up at just that moment, and he's saved from having to be anything other than mute. He opens the door for both ladies, and even though Kate is closest, she pauses to let Beth in ahead of her. So when Castle gets in last, closes the door, it's Kate he sits next to, warm and close in the darkness, her thigh against his.

He gives his address and the cab pulls away from the curb, causing Kate to lean into him a little. She doesn't move away when the car steadies in the lane, and Castle drops Beth's bag into the floor at his feet, wanting to keep his hands free.

You never know.

Beth is talking softly, something about clothing, and he sees, even in the darkness, the way Kate blushes. "I didn't have any. Thank you so much. I wasn't sure how I was gonna ask for that."

"Couldn't you have borrowed some from. . .you know, his daughter?" And Beth's voice drops at the end, even lower, but Castle hears that.

Borrow what from his daughter?

"Borrow? Bethie, you don't borrow underwear!"

Castle barks out a laugh and claps a hand over his mouth when Kate turns to glare at him. He shrugs at her, but he can't help the laughter, and Kate is still pliable and warm against him, not at all rigid with indignation. Her glare is a front, and it thrills him.

"It's not funny. I have nothing to wear, Castle."

"I don't mind," he says, too quickly, not thinking.

Now it's Beth who laughs, that tinkling peal that could heal the sick, cure cancer, all of it. It's really wonderful to hear, because if Castle closes his eyes, then it's Kate's laugh, a little more free, a little less reserved, Kate's warm, rich laugh.

Oh, this night might kill him.

When the cab pulls up to his building, Castle climbs out first and Kate hands him the bag, then her hand. He's allowed to help her out, and then Beth slides forward and he hands her out as well. On her way past him, Beth kisses his cheek, standing on her tiptoes, and gives him another one of those Beckett smiles: mysterious and alluring.

"Thank you, Mr. Castle."

"It's Rick."

Kate's grabbing her sister's hand and tugging her away from the cab. Rick watches Kate closely for another beat, that sudden wash of something over her face he can't identify, and then leans down to the cab driver and pays.

When he turns back around to meet the girls (suddenly, with two Becketts in view, one of whom is completely appealing, the other completely arousing, the both of them become girls), Beth has hooked her arm through Kate's, beaming. Kate doesn't even look like she's suffering for her sister's sake; to Castle's discerning eye, it looks like Kate enjoys it.

His doorman is already flirting with them, and gives Castle that one raised eyebrow as if to say, _Twins!_ But Castle just leads them through the lobby without saying a word, more interested in listening to the two of them banter back and forth, quick and careless, the native language of sisters.

"You didn't?"

"Of course I did," Kate says. "Why wouldn't I?"

"But, Katie, oh my word, your dress!"

"It was decent. . .enough."

"For a book signing?" Beth dissolves into giggles as they step on the elevator and Castle thinks he's caught up to their conversation now.

"Mine you mean?" Castle interrupts, sinking back against the wall with a Beckett on either side. "She came and bothered me at my job."

"Hot and bothered, more like it," Beth giggles.

"Yeah, that," Castle admits, smiling back at her, enchanted again. If Kate was like this with him. . .

Suddenly Kate's pressed closer to his side, her thigh brushing his. "You did kinda. . .stutter during your book reading."

"Stutter? Nothing doing. I never stutter," Castle insists. "What happened was I completely lost my train of thought. You stunned me speechless. No stuttering involved when you can't even talk."

Beth laughs and slips off the elevator as soon as the doors open, waits for them in the hall as they disembark. She links her arm with his, bumping into his hip, and then Kate is at his other side, her arm sliding through his as well (oh wow).

Amazing. Kate Freaking Beckett has slid her arm through his.

He's flanked by Becketts. And it hits him now, what Kate's doing, what she's been doing since letting Beth slide in first to the cab. Competing. She's competing, subtly, with her sister for his attentions. Oh wow.

Oh wow. He is not going to survive tonight.

* * *

><p>Castle's not sure if Beth is trying to charm his daughter, but his daughter is charmed, way charmed, and the woman can stop trying now.<p>

Only, she doesn't stop. It must be all natural. Castle is at the head of the table, Alexis on his right, her usual spot, while Kate's got Martha's seat at his left hand. Beth chose the seat next to Alexis rather than the foot of the table, which is interesting, and must say something about the Beckett family dynamics that he can't quite interpret.

Alexis made their pasta dinner with chicken pesto and some formerly frozen veggies, and Beth is just raving about it. She mentions something about learning a few secrets from a chef in Italy, and of course that's got Alexis's attention, and the two of them are swapping ideas about what kinds of ingredients should go in pasta, and the differences between cold and hot.

On his left, he sees Kate watching with interest, but not adding to the conversation, as if she doesn't know how. Of course, Castle himself isn't trying to jump in there either, but that's because he's always been the observer, the one making notes and remembering things for a later chapter. Kate is usually the one firmly in control of a situation, leading the conversation where she wants it to go, even when she's not interrogating a suspect.

Even when Castle himself tries to derail her, she refuses to be led off course. He wonders what this is now, this silence, this waiting.

Beth senses it, like any good social butterfly, and turns to her sister. "Remember that time we made breakfast for Mother's Day? It was that atrocious sandwich made out of everything we found in the fridge. I kept telling you that wasn't right, but you insisted. And all that horrible mayonnaise dripped all over everything. You put a cherry on top, remember?"

"Hey, now, my culinary skills have vastly improved," Kate interjects, but her eyes are smiling again.

"The styrofoam in your fridge says something different," Castle shoots back, then slaps his head at his mistake. Her apartment? Obliterated. Why else is she here? "Well, it did anyway. You should've seen it, Beth. Every shelf was takeout."

Beth arches an eyebrow, and wow, that has to be something Johanna Beckett did frequently for both women to have that eyebrow arch at the exact same angle, with the same look in their eye. "Oh? You and Kate had dinner?'

"Well, no, it was breakfast. A really skimpy breakfast, because she had absolutely nothing in her fridge, and I'd just woken up-"

When three pairs of female eyes turn stunned gazes to him, (Kate's cheeks almost, almost blushing), Castle realizes what he's said and grins.

"I was keeping Kate safe. I was on the couch. Not even allowed to peek."

Kate snorts and rolls her eyes; he sees all the glib remarks she wants to make right there in her eyes, but Beth is practically rolling in her chair, she's laughing so hard. Fortunately, that somehow eases Alexis's consternation as well, and his daughter begins to smile, giving him a faintly disapproving look.

"I *can* cook," Kate grumbles.

"You didn't even get a chance to eat my pancakes either," Castle complains. "There was a body."

He sees Kate shoot his daughter a quick look, but her face gives nothing away. He didn't, of course, say that the body was dumped on Kate's front door, that their killer was taunting them with his nearness, that Castle had slept on the couch mere feet from that same front door.

But Kate seems to have caught on, because she doesn't address that. "I'm sure your pancakes were delicious. I'm more upset I didn't get my coffee."

"I bought you coffee later," he murmurs, pretending to be affronted. "No respect."

"But I could smell it," she sighs, her face turning towards him. "It was the good stuff. You must've found it at the back of the pantry-"

"I did. It's the stuff *I* gave you. I wasn't about to drink that sludge you put in your coffee maker."

"The sludge works well enough, and it's cheap, Castle. I have a terribly expensive habit, gotta cut costs where I can."

"That is not an acceptable cut. Like toilet paper," he insists.

She raises her eyebrows. "Toilet paper?"

She could be the only one in the room; he loves the way her face animates those thoughts she wants to let him see. "Yeah, you never, ever should by the offbrand toilet paper."

"Oh ew, Dad," Alexis squirms from her seat at his right. He turns his head and beams at her. She chews another bite and swallows, giving him one of her shy, sly smiles. "But you're right. No offbrand toilet paper, ever again. And tissues. Always buy the good kind. We've learned those lessons the hard way."

"And paper towels too," Beth chimes in. "For the messy stuff, you can't have the cardboard paper towels." Alexis turns to her and they both giggle, leaving Castle free to turn his head back to Kate.

She's still got her eyes on the girls, and he's missing something there, but he doesn't know enough about the female psyche to figure it out. "Kate."

She reluctantly pries her eyes from the two across from her, meets Castle's gaze. "Yeah."

Kate looks uneasy. He wonders why, where it came from, what it has to do with her sister and his daughter chatting like best friends across the table. . .

Oh. Maybe that's it. Is she jealous of Alexis's natural rapport with Beth? Or is she jealous of how easily Beth has charmed his daughter? Oh, this is interesting. And he's suddenly at a loss for words.

Because if she's jealous that Beth has charmed Alexis, then what does that mean? That *she* wants to be the one charming Alexis? Because Alexis is important to him?

He's getting ahead of himself. Time to dial it back down.

Only, her eyes are watching his, locked, and she's just so. . .gorgeous. She looks both relaxed at his dinner table, and still Beckett, the woman who can order him around with just a snap of her fingers.

She quirks an eyebrow, asking him a question he knows she doesn't really want to hear the answer to, and then she chews on her bottom lip, apparently guessing clearly enough what that answer is. Her eyes are still warm, even on him, and he clenches a fist at his chest, hoping to breathe.

Beth speaks up from Alexis's elbow. "You know, they did this study about eye contact? And when someone makes eye contact for a full six seconds, like you guys are doing, it means either sex or murder."

Kate's head swivels to Beth; Castle's face splits wide into a grin, but Beth continues.

"And I know my sister adores your murder mysteries, Rick, but I think she might prefer the sex."

"Oh, I've made it clear I'm not here for the murder," he says, much too easily. And then it's out there, in the air between them, and Beth's got that look on her face, and he can't bear to look at Kate, because what would be on *her* face-?

Oh jeez, and Alexis. He forgot his daughter is here too. Damn.

"Well, that's downright *hot*," Beth says, then turns to Alexis with an impish grin. "Sorry, Little Castle. Can't help the truth."

Oh God, that must be a Beckett gene or something, impish names for his daughter.

But Alexis is studying her father, and Rick wishes maybe he'd somehow been able to warn her, not that he knew it'd be coming out like that. Surely she knew? Everyone knew by now, didn't they?

"Should I cover my ears?" Alexis says softly, but she's grinning too, and her gaze switches back to Beth.

Rick's heart pounds, and he gets up the nerve to look over at Kate on his right, bracing himself for the worst. She's been too silent.

Instead of narrowed eyes, instead of the patented Beckett _you are so dead_, Castle is met with nothing. Blankness. Pointedly not looking at him.

Somehow, her lack of response is worse. He grows even more nervous and tries in vain to find a way to change the conversation.

"So, Beth, uh, thanks, but I couldn't help wondering how long you were in town?"

Oh. Bad move, Castle. That sounds wrong, way wrong, judging from the shocked look that spills over his daughter's face, and the smirk on Beth's.

"Dad! Arranging a hook-up right in *front* of me?" Alexis squeaks, but he can tell by her tone that she doesn't believe it at all, that she's, in fact, being his wing man tonight and giving him the opening he needs to repair the damage before it gets out of hand.

Bless her.

"No! Not a hook-up! Just, you know, asking for Kate's benefit. She's not good about asking for things. And I'm sure Kate wants to see you, have a real visit when this case is over." He tries his best charming smile, and Alexis flashes a crooked one back his direction. So he didn't exactly make the best recovery, but he tried.

"What is this?" Kate grumbles. "Pick on Beckett day?"

"I'm a Beckett too!" Beth grumbles back, winking at Castle. He catches that wink out of the corner of his eye and can't believe how affected he is, how it shoots straight through his body like a jolt of electricity. The thing is, she just looks so much like Kate. . .

They could be twins. Or Kate before her mother's death, and Kate after. Well, but Beth lost her mother as well, didn't she? He wonders if that is the reason for the decade-long divide between them. Kate hung on, and Beth let go.

His chest aches, thinking of it. He can't imagine a Kate that doesn't grab hold for all she's worth, a Kate that lets up, gives up. He's not sure he wants to.

"So stop telling stories on me, both of you."

"Oh no, please don't. I want more stories. All of the best ones," Castle adds, trying to shake himself out of a funk.

Alexis props her elbows on the table. "This can be dessert, since we don't really have any. More stories. Beth, please? What was your mom like when you were little?"

The second those words leave her mouth, Castle can see she's already regretting them, blushing a violent red that clashes with her hair. He sighs inwardly, prays that Kate lets it roll over her, that Beth doesn't get offended, that someone will say something to change the subject. Fast.

But Beth grins. Beth grins and clasps her hands together, as if in rapture. "Oh, Mom had this fun, spontaneous wit. Kate's exactly like mom; it's scary. She could demand a lot from us, but she loved practical jokes. She always had something up her sleeve on April Fool's day. Like shaving cream instead of milk, or once, she hung our bras in the windows, stuffed with fruit, but for mine there were apples, and Kate's were lemons."

Alexis laughs with a hand over her mouth, like she really shouldn't, and from the corner of his eye, Castle can see Kate's jaw drop. He grins like a fool, because this is just too good.

"I cannot believe you brought that up. And I am not like Mom," Kate says, jumping into it. "You're like mom. You two were the worst. Holy crap, Bethie, the two of you always ganged up on me and Dad."

"We did not! You guys were just. . .so stuffy. Okay, that's not true. Katie, you had your moments."

"Kate had moments?" Castle says eagerly, also eager to avoid his daughter's still lemon-mortified silence. "I wanna know all about Kate's moments."

"Kate is devious."

"I am not!"

"You are so."

"Am not-"

"Children, children. We can all play fair," Alexis chimes in, grinning at Beth, who she has apparently picked out as the least threatening of the two women, the one most likely to forgive her for asking about Johanna._ Good move, sweetheart._

"She's devious. I mean, at least my crazy ideas were stupid. But Kate's were always clever. She had us run these elaborate con games-"

"I *knew* you couldn't hate con movies!"

Beth turns questioning eyes to Castle, tilts her head, but Kate is laughing. "Uh-huh, totally fooled you, Castle."

Alexis and Beth share a look that Castle won't try to decipher, then Beth continues. "She tell her about her senior year?"

"Please tell me this has something to do with her motorcycle?" Castle asks eagerly.

Beth shoots a glance to Kate. "Motorcycle?"

"Never mind." Kate's squirming in her chair. "Beth, no more-"

"Oh, more." Castle can't help the grin that sprawls across his face. "More, more, more."

"Senior year." Beth grins, crosses her arms over her chest to look at her sister. "Katie worked in the main office her senior year, right? And you know every class does a senior prank. So Katie registered a fake girl for school. Her name was Ellen Green and she was in all of Kate and her friend's classes, and of course, I keep hearing about it, right? Ellen Green gets called on in PE to serve the volleyball, Ellen Green was counted tardy to American History, Ellen Green entered a still life into the Art competition. Stuff like that. I kinda figure out what's going on, even though Katie won't tell me. And one day in assembly, the principal of the whole school gets up to make announcements-"

"But *you* did that!" Kate protests, leaning forward like she's going to cut Beth off.

"No, no, no. Wait-" Beth gasps, trying to talk over her laughter even as Kate lunges for her.

"Tell it. Let her tell it," Castle says, reaching out to grab Kate's wrist, keep her away. Fortunately, it's not her injured arm.

"Katie's been having so much fun. All this fun *without* me, right? So I sneaked in an extra announcement during home room, and the principal's reading it in front of everyone-"

"What's it say?" Alexis asks, leaning on her elbows on the table.

"It says, 'Lost: One diamond earring. If found return to Ellen Green. It's very valuable.' And *all* of Katie's friends, all of the senior class, burst out laughing from their section; they are guffawing, oh my gosh, it was hilarious, but the principal sees them and like, catches on-"

"I was furious," Kate interrupts, no longer twisting against Castle's grip but glaring at her sister. "You ratted me out."

"I didn't mean to!" Beth squeaks out, still giggling. "It was totally an accident. It was your stupid friends who couldn't stop laughing. That told on you, not me. I mean, Madison, she was rolling in the floor-"

"You made up a student?" Castle says, looking at Kate with newfound wonder. "How long did this go on?"

"All year," she smirks, although the smirk does seem more reluctant than prideful.

"That is *such* a good senior prank," Alexis laughs. "I might have to pick your brain for ours. Plus you can let me know which things are illegal. Cause last year, they dumped a bunch of old cars from the junk yard all over campus and it turns out that was illegal."

"Did they take the cars?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess they thought it was like garbage?" Alexis says, wincing.

"Yeah, illegal," Kate laughs.

"But back to Kate Beckett's legal or not legal activities," Castle interrupts. "Beth?"

"Oh, there are so many. I was the wild child of the family, of course-" She shoots him another saucy look that he *knows* he's seen on Kate before. "-but if Kate was involved, it was just the best. Like when she set fire to the door-"

"It's not necessary that Castle hear all these," Kate says, this time breaking out of his grip and leaning back in her seat. "Or Little Castle."

"I'm not *that* little-"

"Set *fire* to the door?"

"I didn't put the *door* on fire, I-"

"She sprayed hairspray all over this metal door in the dorm-"

"In *college* Beckett set fire to a door?" His brain is going to explode. It really is.

"Uh-huh, freshman year. Back when Mom was still alive, and Katie was still fun-" Beth rolls her eyes and laughs, but Castle suddenly feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

He can't help watching Kate, the stricken look on her face, and he hopes that Beth continues to be oblivious, for as long as she can, because that look is. . .painful.

"She let me-" Beth stumbles to a halt, evidently just now seeing her sister's reaction. "Katie?"

Kate waves her off.

"I. . ." Beth glances to Alexis, as if for help, and amazingly, his daughter delivers.

Good girl.

"Did you get in trouble?" Alexis asks, trying to switch the subject, regain the momentum.

"Yeah," Beth answers, but she's watching her sister. "Hey, Kate? Come on."

Kate smiles, something that doesn't reach her eyes, and Castle wishes he could fix it. "Mom's death was. . .not really that fun, Bethie."

There's an old argument here, an undercurrent to the room that Castle feels, that he can tell his daughter feels as well. She looks down at her plate, then up at him, looking for help.

"Let's clean up, pumpkin," he says softly, and gathers Kate's dishes and his own. Alexis follows him gratefully, and they leave the sisters sitting at the dining room table, Beth already speaking urgently to Kate.

Alexis crowds close to him at the sink, presses her cheek against his arm. "She's so different," she whispers.

Castle lowers his voice. "She is."

"They look like twins almost, until Beth starts talking, and then her whole face changes. How can they be so different when the same terrible thing happened to both of them?"

Castle swallows thickly and wishes he didn't wonder that himself. "I don't know, sweetheart."

"How come it hurt Kate more?"

Castle pauses as he rinses the plate, glances over at Alexis's furrowed face. He knows, for a fact, that Alexis feels badly for not really liking her own mother. He's told her, often, that loving her and liking her don't have to go together, but he knows she's never felt right about it, that it bothers her. Daughters are supposed to be like Kate, aren't they? Daughters are supposed to miss their mothers.

He wishes, not for the first time, that Alexis's mother was worth it.

"It was the same hurt, Alexis."

Alexis looks up at him, but whatever she might have said gets interrupted by Beth's voice. "Oh come on, don't hide out at the sink. We're fine. Let's keep telling Kate stories."

"Hey now-"

Castle turns around, his arms wet up to his elbows, and looks first to Kate. But she really is fine, relaxed again, her eyes reflecting only hints of sadness. It's mostly contentment he sees there, and he's so grateful for whatever stubbornness is also in Beth's nature, that she would bully her way right through Kate's protective shroud of grief.

He grins and wipes his hands off on the dishtowel. "All right. I've got some good Kate stories."

"Are they mortifying?" Beth asks, practically bouncing in her seat.

"Nope. Not a single one. But they are good. You know, she comes up with some good lines."

Castle slips his arm around Alexis's shoulders and nudges her back to the dining room table.

"None are embarrassing? Where's the fun in that? Does your dad have embarrassing stories, Alexis?"

"Oh yeah, loads. He once stole a police horse."

Beth giggles, obviously pleased that his daughter has cracked so quickly and given up the secrets.

Alexis smirks. "Naked."

Beth rocks back in her chair with laughter, slapping both hands over her face to hold back the giggles. Castle sighs and happens to catch Kate's look. She's smirking too, isn't she? She is. Damn.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he tries.

Beth fans herself, still emitting a laugh or two, starts wiping her eyes. "Oh man. The only way that story gets better is if you tell me the police horse was Kate's."

Castle does laugh at that, shaking his head. "No. Before we met. Too bad."

Kate groans. "Thank you so much, Bethie, for that mental image."

Castle's mouth drops open and he stares Kate down. "Are you picturing me naked, Detective Beckett?"

Kate closes her eyes, wincing.

"You are! You *still* are!"

"Da-ad," Alexis complains. "Don't forget there's a minor in the room."

Beth is laughing again, her head in her hands. "Oh my word, Rick Castle. You are so good for my sister."

Yeah. He likes to think so too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>This night spent with Beth, Castle, and Alexis leaves Beckett giddy, light-headed. Last night seemed right out of a nightmare, the inferno of the explosion mingled with that breathless, "I thought it was done" feeling; and tonight is this surreal reunion filled with her sister's happy laughter, Castle's delighted wonder, and the flaming-red patch of Alexis's ponytail, swinging when she shakes her head in disbelief at Beth's stories.<p>

The difference is too great for Kate not to be unbalanced by it. In a good way. Like when you've been shut inside for too long, bathed in artificial light, and you finally walk out to find the sun shining.

A little dazzling, a little disconcerting.

Not a bad feeling. Just – unusual. So much so that Kate is relieved to find herself alone with Castle, after he orders a town car for Beth, asks one of Montgomery's men to see her home.

Beth argues that she is a grown-up, that she doesn't need an escort, but Castle doesn't relent. And once Beckett realizes what he has in mind – her resemblance with Beth, Dunn still lurking in the shadows – she joins in the conversation, overcomes her sister's objections.

She's a little startled by her shadow's quick thinking. Or maybe by her own slow one.

Alexis is in bed already, left them about half an hour ago. She gave Beth a hug. Kate is trying not to read too much into it.

Still. It feels good, when it's only her and Castle again. It feels natural, easy.

It's just about the only easy thing in her life right now, when she thinks about it. That in turns brings her back to her apartment, to Dunn, to the case. But it doesn't leave her raw like before.

"Well, who would have thought I would be homeless, and case-less in one day," she says, going for levity, or for anything that will keep Castle from silently staring at her like's been doing for the past two minutes.

Her fingers play with the handle of her cup. The writer's made them herbal tea, saying he wants her to be able to sleep. Considering Kate's level of exhaustion by now, she doesn't think even black coffee could keep her up.

But his herbal tea is good enough. If you're into that sort of thing.

"I know I'm the king of going rogue, but… You were right to chase after Dunn," Castle says, in what she construes as a misplaced, but rather sweet attempt to comfort her.

"And Agent Shaw was right to kick me off the case," she shoots back, glad that she can at least admit it. "I would have done the same thing if I was in her spot. I'm too close to it."

After tonight, though, she feels calmer. In control again. Well, as far as the case goes. The rest of it – the rest of it, she doesn't want to consider.

"I'm sure after all this, you're… a little sorry you let me follow you around."

She hears it in his voice, the real concern tucked under the blanket of casualness. The concern that finds an echo in her own.

"No, not this," Kate answers without a moment's hesitation. "All the other annoying things that you do, but not this." She smiles at him, in the vague hope that it will cover the ring of truth surrounding her words.

"What about you?" She inquires, since they've got this honesty thing going, and going rather well, too. "Are you sorry that you ever wrote Heat Wave?"

Her breath catches in her throat on the last words, and that's how she realizes the answer to that question means a lot to her. A lot more than she's willing to admit.

"The way I look at it now," Castle says slowly, his thinking face on. "If it wasn't for Nikki Heat, this guy would have just gone on killing because he wouldn't have met anyone smart enough to catch him."

Oh. Beckett can't help being flattered, and at the same time, she's also strangely proud of him. Proud that he's reached that conclusion on his own, seen that none of this is his fault. That only Dunn is responsible.

"I'm speaking, of course, about Special Agent Shaw," he adds, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he bursts her happy bubble.

Even the towel she throws at his face – her aim impeccable, if she says so herself – cannot erase the grin that's taken residence there. Not that she really wants it to.

Kate wishes him good night and gets up. The weight of his eyes on her is heavy as she heads for the stairs, and even through the fatigue, even through the dull throbbing of the stitches in her thigh, she gives her hips a little extra sway.

And no, she tells herself, this has absolutely nothing to do with her little sister's earlier flirting.

* * *

><p>The dark and the quiet of Castle's extra bedroom wash over her like a warm shower after a long run. It's both enjoyable and annoying, because she feels so relaxed now that she can barely function anymore.<p>

Heading for the bag that Beth thoughtfully brought her, bending to pick the first clothes that she finds, crossing the room to step into the bathroom: Kate has to gather all of her remaining energy to perform those simple tasks, and she doesn't even have the strength to be irritated.

Once she's gotten out of her clothes, and wriggled her way into the oversized t-shirt she grabbed from the bag (it's red, which is a rather low-key color, when you know Beth), Kate looks around her and realizes that while the bathroom is spacious and classy, like the rest of Castle's loft, it's still missing some of the basic products. There's toothpaste, but no toothbrush. No make-up remover, either.

Every step gives rise to a hearty protest from her mutinous body, but the detective goes back to Beth's bag, tries to remember if her sister said anything about cosmetics or toothbrushes. A careful search wields a negative answer; Beckett sighs, hangs her head in disappointment.

Here she is, completely washed out, kneeling on the floor of Richard Castle's guest bedroom, trying to find the courage to get back to her feet, and ask him for a toothbrush. Pathetic.

But she doesn't have a choice, does she? She doesn't have a home anymore. There's no getting any of it back – the clothes, the pictures, the books, Beth's postcards. All lost, irremediably lost.

She doesn't even have a freaking toothbrush.

Kate straightens her back when she feels the first tear roll down her cheek, gasps for breath, for strength. Strength to force the back the acute, sudden grief that threatens to swallow her like a wave.

She's not going to lose it. She needs sleep, that's all. She was doing so well downstairs, what's different now? She lets out a sob, just one, single sob, and she's already wiping her cheeks when she hears the rap against the door.

Oh, crap. He just can't leave it alone, can he? Then she remembers the toothbrush. She's always been, uh, a little OCD about brushing her teeth at night. Besides, she's not stupid enough to believe Castle would go away if she didn't answer.

"Yes?"

Her voice comes out strong, confident. Even Beckett is surprised by it.

She can almost hear Castle deliberating on the other side of the door.

"I know you have Beth's clothes," he says in a low voice, mindful of his daughter's sleep. "But I was wondering if you needed anything. I haven't checked the guest bathroom for a while, so I have no idea what's left in there."

Oh. Well, if he's offering.

"Actually… Could you get me a toothbrush, please? And maybe – if Alexis has some make-up remover?"

"Sure," he answers, his eagerness carrying even through the wall between them.

She hears him hurrying away, and she smiles despite herself, closing her eyes and leaning back against the bed.

When he comes back, she's had time to get up and clean her face a little. Castle peers at her when she opens the door, making her wonder how much he heard, exactly.

Even if he heard the sob, he cannot know for sure she's been crying. She could have just…hit her foot or something. Which, considering her state of tiredness, is in fact pretty likely.

She thanks him, takes the bottle and the toothbrush, and heads back to the bathroom. From what she sees in the mirror, her shadow remains still, standing at the door.

Does he need something?

She voices her question, gets a fretful, if negative, answer.

Alright. She neither has the energy nor the patience to coax Castle into spilling his guts. He's still here when she turns off the lights in the bathroom, however, which is kind of awkward.

In a not-really-awkward way.

The writer nods at her. "Do you need help with that?"

Kate follows his eyes, notices the gauze on her left wrist is coming undone. Ah. Unfolding the gauze she can do one-handed, but putting it back in place will be more difficult.

"If you don't mind," she answers softly, all fight having seeped out of her.

She sits on the bed, because she's not sure how much longer her legs can hold her up. Castle mimics her, his thigh brushing hers.

She suddenly realizes that the oversized t-shirt leaves a whole lot of her to see. But when she looks up, the author's deep blue eyes are intent on the dressing of her wound instead of her exposed, naked skin.

The tension in Beckett's stomach dissolves in a heartbeat. She watches too, almost hypnotized, charmed by the gentle movements of his hands, unwrapping the gauze. When he uncovers the red, angry line, she sees him flinch. It's funny, because she doesn't feel anything, doesn't care really.

But he does. Her eyes have drifted from her wrist to his face, and she follows the lines that concentration puts there as he faithfully reproduces the medic's gestures, spreading neosporin over the wound with his finger (when did he go get neosporin?) before he starts wrapping again.

New gauze, too. It feels fresh and clean against her skin. Kate is absorbed with Castle's jaw, the shadows that play on his face in the half-light. The softness around his eyes, the way his unkempt hair seems darker now.

She wonders what it would feel like, his lips moving against hers.

She only has to lean in. Just these few extra inches…

"All done," he says, letting go of her wrist a little suddenly. He clears his throat, avoids her eyes.

This is the moment when Beckett usually comes back to herself, puts the armor back on, and shoos Castle out, isn't it? Except, for some reason, it's not happening right now.

Not that she needs to: he's already moving away, swaying uncertainly towards the door.

Because she isn't Beth?

The thought slices right through her, through her Beckett cover; it leaves her naked, vulnerable. A little girl.

She hears Beth's laugh in her head, light and bright like fairy dust, remembers the admiring looks Castle gave her, and sees Alexis smiling at her sister, more animated than she's ever been with Kate.

A giant fist is squeezing her heart, and she doesn't know how to make it let go. She doesn't know how to stop the string of terrible thoughts: Castle and Beth make sense, they both laugh and joke all the time, they have this easy, playful manner that allows them to make friends wherever they go. They look at the world with the same wonder-filled eyes.

And he said it himself. She and Beth look so much alike. Only, Beth is much less complicated, much less…broken.

Oh. It hurts. She had forgotten how much it could hurt.

She can't even be mad, can't even blame him. Or Beth. Beth has always been terrible at picking men, she deserves to be with someone good. And Castle, despite his many faults – Castle is a good man.

She raises her eyes, sees that he's reached the door. He's standing with his back to her.

He won't look at her.

"Castle," she calls, no, rasps, before she can help herself. She eases to her feet again, but she doesn't stray from the solid support the bed provides for her.

"Yeah?"

Has she dreamt that trembling edge to his voice?

"If you ever –" Oh God, what is she doing? Giving Castle the big sister talk? But she can't seem to stop her mouth, her damn mouth; she can't seem to shut up. "Beth never chooses good men for herself," she explains hurriedly. "She's so trusting, she always ends up with assholes or idiots. So, if, if you want. If you two ever. Get together." How can two small, two ridiculous words weigh so much? "You'll need to be good to her."

Stunned silence answers her. It feels good, the cool, silvery silence, after the burning fire of those words in her throat. After a moment – her heart is still pounding, pounding, clearly looking to get out of her chest – she remembers to look at him.

Castle's eyes are rounded in surprise, clueless.

Indignant.

Then a stride, two, and his arms are around her. Kate is too busy fighting for air – she can't fight him, too.

That's what she tells herself, anyway.

His warm breath washes over the shell of her ear, makes her tremble with something else than cold dread. Finally.

"Already handing me over, detective?" he whispers. It echoes through her, sends shivers racing down her arms, flutters in her stomach. Kate's intakes of air are like a drowning man's, shallow, erratic.

"You're the only one I see, Kate," he growls against her skin, nipping at her ear.

Oh, God. "Only you. Only you I see in her."

She wants to believe him. She wants to believe him, so bad.

"Still," she pants (there's really no other word for it). "Alexis loved her. And – and it makes more sense. You and her."

Why is she trying to sabotage herself like this? Lanie would have a heart attack if she could hear her.

Apparently, Castle isn't too pleased either. He moves back, so he can meet her gaze. His eyebrows are drawn together, and he studies her for a moment.

Whatever he sees, it seems to ease his worry a little; a gentle, amused smile plays on his lips. And he shakes his head at her.

"Alexis adores you," he says slowly, as if speaking to a five-year-old. "You just… intimidate her. Like with you and Joe Torre, remember?"

His eyes twinkle at the memory, and Kate feels a smile tugging at her lips in response.

"The fact you stuttered in front of Joe didn't mean that you don't like him, right?"

He actually waits for her answer. So she has to shake her head no, reluctantly, even as her cheeks heat up.

"See? And Beth…" He pauses, searches her eyes. Sighs. "God, Kate. I can't believe you're really saying this. She's your sister. She's really nice, and beautiful, but – she's not you."

Kate doesn't even think about it – she slides her arms around his neck, nuzzles against the soft skin she finds there. Presses her body to his. Castle gasps, but his hands are warm and sure at her back.

And this is what she needs, what she so desperately, absolutely needs.

"She's the fun one," she hears herself whisper, a part of her apparently determined to ruin the beauty of the moment.

The writer grunts his disagreement into her hair.

"So? I'm fun enough for two. Don't need more fun. I want the serious one," he adds, and she can tell from his voice that he's smiling.

His words – his words are a cool, healing balm on an open wound. An open wound she's been carrying for years, unaware. But there's still this tiny flicker of disbelief in her heart, this small pocket of insecurity, that keeps her from falling off the edge, from drowning into him.

"You sure about that?" She asks, very quiet.

She hears him chuckle, and he clutches her to him, confident, possessive.

"Uh, yeah," he answers, sounding too amused for her taste. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

Then Castle tugs her hold on his neck a little loose, making space between them so he can look down at her. What she sees in his eyes leaves her breathless.

He smiles, tender, dazzled, and his hands come up to push back her hair, palm the sides of her neck.

"And I think you, Miss Beckett, have done enough talking for tonight."

Any objection she might have falls to the wayside immediately, because his mouth is now moving on hers, slow and deliberate, delicate almost. And his fingers thread through her hair, his thumbs ghosting her ears, and Kate forgets about Beth.

She forgets about all that isn't Castle, his tongue licking at her lower lip, the hum of contentment she feels vibrating through his chest, and she abandons herself in his arms.

She abandons herself completely.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by** Sandiane Carter **and** chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Silly woman. Beth is for kids.<p>

Kate is for real.

Richard Castle luxuriates in the feel of Kate Beckett in his arms. He hasn't felt this right, this good about them since before-

well, since before he looked into her mother's case without her permission and then had to ask for her forgiveness. It's been so long.

Her words tonight have a meaning he can't quite catch, things that are just out of his reach, but he'll leave them swirling in his subconscious for now, hope that they gain cohesion. She meant something else when she pushed Beth at him, she meant something else when her voice caught on his name as he turned to walk away.

Holding her now, being able to brush his lips against the so-soft edge of her ear, nuzzle her cheek even as she draws her arms down from his neck, just knowing that Kate Beckett is abandoning herself for once, letting go, giving it up-

She seems as hungry as he is, demanding promises from his mouth which he will gladly make in words. He wraps his arm around her waist to pull her up against him, tighter, tasting the hot, soft inside of her mouth, feeling her urgent and strong fingers at his shoulders.

She has to know. How can she not know what this means to him, what she means to him? He can tell by the aggression in her body that she knows and doesn't want to know. So he won't say it out loud, he won't rock the boat. He'll be content with this. He won't make tonight any harder for her; he'll keep the status quo-

_No._

No. He doesn't want to do that either. Now that he has her, a taste of her, everything in him cries out against keeping silent. She nearly died yesterday - only yesterday - and he's finished with silence, with careful. Careful has gotten him nowhere. He's told her part of the truth; he's desperate to tell her the rest. How he-

"Please, Castle," she whispers. "Please don't."

He closes his mouth, lets her brush her lips against his lips, seeking entrance again.

But he doesn't want it to just end here. He's anxious for the beginning of things, for it to get going already, for them. As a writer, he's never approved of skipping to the end of the novel and reading the last page, but as a man, as a man with Kate Beckett in his arms, he wants the last page to become clear to her.

As it's so clear to him.

Her mouth breaks apart from his, but she leans her forehead against his, her thumbs stroking the line of his jaw in apology or regret, he's not sure.

"I'm so tired," she says. He feels her boneless against him now, leaning into him. He doesn't want to move.

He's surprised when she turns her face into his neck and presses her lips there, against the flutter of his pulse. He closes his eyes, burns it into his memory, the feel of her lips, her body. It's going to have to last him.

He doesn't want to let her go, but this is Beckett, even if she did just thoroughly ravish his mouth. "Go to bed," he says finally, loosening his arms.

She sways, a hand flails to catch his arm; he steadies her, can't help the grin that slides across his face.

"It's only because I haven't slept in two days," she mutters darkly.

"Sure it is."

"Wipe the smirk off your face, Castle."

"It's off, I promise," he avows, but it's not. It's still there.

"I don't believe you," she growls, even as she moves away from him, towards the bed. He follows, because he just can't not follow her, and then watches her get in.

"Need anything?"

He hopes, fervently and without any grounding in reality, that she will say _You_.

She sighs. He waits for it, watches her scissor her legs under the covers as she gets comfortable. "'M good."

He wants to be here. Not anywhere else. But he shouldn't. Oh, he really shouldn't. He wavers in the quiet darkness, wanting things he shouldn't want, until he drops to his knees beside the bed just to keep himself from crawling in there with her.

She turns on her side and watches him, but says nothing.

Castle lifts his hand and strokes her cheek, knowing that everything is in his eyes and not able to help it. She's got him completely undone tonight. Only minutes ago, he was nibbling at her ear, confident and sure, and now she's got him on his knees, unable to let go.

She captures his hand, presses his fingers together with her grip, not letting him touch her, but not letting go of him either. He hovers somewhere in between.

And then it hits him, finally, what Kate was saying in the darkness of the guest bedroom. Now it's clear, the reason for the catch in her voice and the reason she couldn't look him in the eyes when she said it.

She thought he should get together with her sister.

"Kate," he whispers, half in awe, half thrilled. "You thought I was good enough for your sister?"

"Castle," she sighs, and wriggles deeper under the covers, her eyes slipping closed. She's dropped his hand.

"If I'm good enough for your sister, does that mean I'm good enough for you?"

Even in the dark, he can see her startled eyes flicker open. Her voice is raw when she speaks. "Don't make me try to answer that. Not tonight, after. . .when-"

Her ragged breath is answer enough. Victory enough. He'll take it.

"Not tonight then," he agrees, because just the sound of the longing in her voice is enough. "Not tonight but soon."

He gets to his feet reluctantly, watches her for just a moment (does he really hope she'll change her mind?), then leaves the room.

Not tonight. Not during this case. But soon. Because he's no longer content to be silent.

* * *

><p>Kate jerks violently from sleep in a sweaty mess in the middle of the night. Her mouth is dry as a sock; it's painful to swallow. With her heart thudding loud enough to wake the dead, she wrestles back the covers and fumbles out of bed, falling to one knee and causing pain to lance through her thigh.<p>

She's still half in a nightmare and half out.

She lowers her forehead to the floor with a slow and controlled breath, blinking in the darkness. She's afraid, but it's ridiculous. She's panicking, but it's not real. She gets to her hands and knees and stands, trying not to pull the stitches in her leg, trying to push back this irrational fear of the dark.

Even if Dunn knows exactly where to find her, he can't get to her. He can't. There's the police detail outside the building, the two locks on Castle's door, and-

That doesn't seem like enough, does it? A dream. It was a dream, surely. He's not in the living room waiting for her. She doesn't know what all the details of her dream were, only that the emotions it released are still bouncing around inside her skull, churning her guts.

She shuffles to her bedside table, opens the drawer. Her gun is there, safe in its holster. Her badge under that. A makeshift place for them, but good enough. It makes her feel a little better to know that they're there. Tomorrow maybe, she'll head back to the precinct and get her extra weapon and the ankle holster. Just in case. Even though tomorrow is Saturday and she's off the case.

Kate stumbles into the bathroom and runs the water in the sink, trying to calm down. She splashes water on her face, cups her hands under the faucet to gather enough to drink.

She needs a distraction. Otherwise, falling back asleep will just result in more nightmares. Kate turns the water off and glances into the mirror.

Not too bad, all things considering. Her eyes don't show too much of the stress, but maybe that has more to do with Castle than the four hours of sleep she's gotten. She will go back to bed eventually, but for now-

Kate slips out of the room and heads for the stairs, trying to keep quiet as she passes Alexis's door. When she gets to the living room, she pauses at the entryway, glancing towards the hall that leads to Castle's bedroom.

That's an irrational, serial killer-related fear that makes her heart pound. Not the memory of Castle's lips on hers.

She diverts her steps to the kitchen instead, purposefully putting distance between herself and that hallway. She opens the fridge and the draft of cool air over her skin starts to wake her up. Surprised by the variety of midnight snacks available (yes, midnight snack at three in the morning), Kate picks out a package of sliced cheese, a bowl of strawberries, and a container of blueberries. She dumps it all on the counter and sits at the bar.

She ends up just eating the blueberries. All of them, one after another, mindlessly, as she tries to push away the darkness of her dream. Which makes her feel bad for eating their fruit, so she puts back the strawberries, eats just a slice of cheese, and checks to see what else Castle has. It's enough for breakfast in the morning probably, if she does it right. Omelettes? He's got eggs, and cheese, and. . .and ham. Fresh ham in a tupperware dish. It must be leftovers from some family dinner.

She can make breakfast tomorrow. She's off the case, she has no apartment of her own, she can make him breakfast. Oh, and Alexis will be there, no school, right? So breakfast for the three of them. Martha's moved out, she remembers. She bites her lip.

Her palms are slick; she's suddenly nervous. Must be nightmare-related, has to be. Just more dream stuff. She's fine. It's not the idea of breakfast with Castle's family, and it's definitely not the idea of doing something so domestic, because that's just-

Crazy. It's three in the morning and she should be in bed, not in the kitchen taking inventory of Castle's fridge and making plans for the morning after.

It's not a Morning After. It's not a Morning After because there is no Night Before.

Back to bed, Kate Beckett. Right now.

Of course, when she's warm under the covers again and her eyes are closed, it's not Dunn's smirk she sees in the darkness, it's Castle's.

And his mouth she dreams about.

* * *

><p>Castle wakes up at six. Six in the freaking morning. He cracks an eye open to peer at the clock, grunts, and rolls to his side, intent on getting a few more hours' sleep. But the moment his eyelid drifts shut, his brain is jerked into awareness, flooded with images of Beckett, how she looked and smelled and *tasted* last night, soft and melting in his arms, and he knows he's screwed.<p>

There's no way he's going back to sleep now.

He's lucky he managed any, in fact; lucky that exhaustion overcame his excitement at all when he came into bed last night, drunk with Kate Beckett's mouth, Kate Beckett's skin, Kate Beckett's almost admission of his being right for her.

His writer's mind takes over from there, readily painting all the ways things could have gone differently after their kiss; and for the next hour he lets himself drift happily in an ocean of Kate, lets himself revel in the fact that he now has a real-life basis for his fantasies, for that _KateKateKate_ flurry his brain so readily goes into.

By seven he can't take it anymore. He's tried to convince himself that it's a bad idea, but it seems his body won't listen to him. His body needs to see Kate Beckett asleep in his loft, in a bed that, if it isn't *his*, still belongs to him.

He stumbles out of bed in his sudden haste, winces at the cool feel of the floor under his naked feet. But he's not about to waste time putting on some stupid socks, and he's halfway through the living room when he finishes that thought anyway.

He climbs the stairs with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas Eve, but he slows down when he gets to the top, survival instinct kicking in. He hears no sounds whatsoever as he makes his silent way past Alexis's bedroom, and he's suddenly reminded that it's Saturday. His daughter likes to sleep in on weekends, or just laze in bed with her iPod.

She probably won't be up for a while. Hopefully.

His heart is thumping in his chest when he gets to the last door. Kate's door. It seems too good to be true. Which is the exact reason why he's here, at seven in the morning, clad only in a t-shirt and boxers, almost breathless with exhilaration and disbelief. Ridiculous.

He forces himself to gulp down some air before he gently, gently turns the doorknob. There's no revealing creak, no disgraceful noise that could alert the detective to his intrusion; only the soundless wonder of that door opening, letting him in.

Before long his eyes have adjusted to the surrounding darkness, and he can make out the hump in the quilt that is Kate's sleeping form, as the dark hair spilling over the pillow can attest to.

Castle's face breaks into an irresistible grin. He tiptoes closer, just because he can't help it, until he's standing at the edge of the bed, almost touching her.

What was it that Paula said, at the launch party for Heat Wave? "Go get her out of your system," or something like that. Rick is still equal parts amused and appalled by the suggestion. He already had a feeling back then that a night with Kate Beckett would never completely fulfill that craving inside him, that it would only send him on a downward spiral, made of more need, made of fascination and a desire to understand.

He supposes he has his proof now. He has kissed her, and all he wants, all he can think of, is more. More more more. More of her silky hair under his palms, more of her warm, responsive mouth under his, more of that soft skin under her ear to rub his nose against. It's a devouring, uncontrollable ache, unlike the familiar desire he's become very skilled at hiding.

He'll have to work on this.

"What do you think you're doing, Castle?" Kate's startlingly distinct voice asks, making him jump and realize he's been standing there for far longer than is appropriate.

Well, not that coming into her bedroom and staring at her sleeping form was very appropriate to begin with.

"I'm crawling into bed with you," he replies very naturally, not even sure where that answer came from.

But he might as well do as he says, so he drops on the bed without any more warning, the air wheezing out of him as his stomach and lungs collide with the quilt that still, thankfully, covers most of Beckett. Who is facing away from him. Good. The less he sees, the better he can resist.

She lets out a soft sound, however, a groan halfway between annoyance and resignation, and resistance becomes the last thing on his mind. Maybe she's not so awake as she appeared at first; maybe it was all for show. Rick finds himself delighted with the idea.

Now he wants, very badly, to get a view of her face. He starts creeping closer, but before he can get anywhere Beckett rolls over, granting him his unspoken wish. She's glaring at him even through the lingering haze of sleep – a daunting, impregnable fortress, fierce and unaffected by the mist down in the valley.

He smiles. He has only to remember her hand curled at the back of his neck and he's moving forward, propelled by something stronger than the fear of her walls. And she doesn't retreat; Kate watches him with ever-widening eyes, a little defensive, a little wary, but she doesn't move back.

Not even when he's so close that he can feel her breath fan over his nose; not even when he leans in and presses a firm kiss to the corner of her mouth. No tongue – he instinctively knows better, feels the difference between last night and this morning.

He knows how much perspective sleep can give you, how many doubts can arise from the depths of slumber. He just needs her to know that he still means those things he said. And the things he hasn't said, as well.

When he timidly risks a look at her, trying to appraise her reaction, he's amazed to find her eyelids squeezed shut. Then he feels her hand splaying over the stubble of his unshaven cheek, and he closes his eyes too. Her fingers don't move; they just stay there, at home against his skin, and he never wants them elsewhere again.

A tiny piece of the gauze he wrapped himself around her wrist yesterday grazes his chin, and the roughness of it presents his mind with more palpable evidence that this is real, that he's in bed with Kate Beckett, and she's touching him.

He lets his fingers wrap around her forearm, light and gentle, mindful of her wound, and he sighs in absolute bliss. His mind, restless since he woke up this morning, finally stops whirling and quiets down, like a dog which has been given its favorite bone and settles in a corner to gnaw at it in peace.

This is perfect.

"Hell no, Castle," Kate whispers decidedly, breaking his moment. "Go back to your own bed. You're not falling asleep here."

"Why not?" He asks, with what he hopes is a cute curl of his lower lip. He's almost ready to start sulking; he just needs one more minute bathed in Kate's glorious presence.

"Because you don't want Alexis to find you in here," she shoots back, and her hand leaves his cheek. He wants it back.

Alas, she's right. The wiser part of him can acknowledge that, and act in consequence, even though the rest of him is just dying to ask if this is the *only* objection Kate can raise against his sleeping next to her.

He hasn't even talked to his daughter about the dinner with Beth, and he feels he might have to apologize for some of the things that came out of his mouth. A lot of it, he must confess, wasn't quite right for Alexis to hear. She may have taken it all in stride, may have reacted with a calm and a confidence that stagger him just to think of it, but she deserves better from him, if only because she's his child and not only this mature, amazing young person.

"Right," he agrees reluctantly, rolling himself out of bed before he loses the courage to do so. "You're right."

"I know," Kate says quietly, breathing out a single note of laughter when he gives her a look. If she could *not* rub it in his face –

"But for once, I sort of wish I wasn't," she adds, and the way she says it... It's not teasing, per se – her eyebrow only slightly arches, and the half-smile on her face is more like – wistful. There's still the shadow of a smirk dancing in her eyes, but the rest of her expression... She *means* it. She would like for him to stay in her bed.

Oh, God. Oh, wow.

It's like a tsunami in his brain, drowning all coherent thought and leaving him utterly helpless, gaping. Kate seems to find it rather amusing: her smile widens, and she ends up biting her lip, which could mean she's holding back a laugh. Of course, it doesn't do much for him.

"To bed with you, Castle," she orders, but there it is again, that tender tone to her voice that he heard yesterday.

It only makes him want her more.

"Now," she insists, with that Detective Beckett glare now. His body is trained to respond to that, and it starts carrying him to the door without his permission.

"And you stay clear of the kitchen," she orders as he's about to walk through.

He stops, looks back at her, definitely intrigued.

"Why? What's going on in the kitchen?"

"If you want to find out," she taunts, giving him that killer, mysterious-Beckett smile. "You'll just do as I say."


	11. Chapter 11

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>She glances at the alarm clock again but it's only seven-twenty now and that's still not long enough. This is Saturday, and she's been kicked off this case (which she honestly won't be able to abide for long), and she doesn't want to let Castle think he got to her.<p>

He did though. Of course he did. But still.

She'll sleep until 8:30 at least and then get up and start breakfast.

Kate Beckett rolls onto her right side and tries to get comfortable. She chews on her bottom lip, closes her eyes, tries to relax. She wants to make Castle a little nuts with waiting.

He is going to wait, isn't he?

He better wait.

She wants to make him omelettes; she sort of feels like she has something to prove after last night's dinner conversation. Kate's the one who sat at a bar stool in the kitchen while her mom made them Sunday brunch, she's the sister who learned her mother's secrets.

She just doesn't usually have time.

But Castle made her breakfast. It's her turn. And hopefully they'll get a chance to linger over breakfast, wake up with good coffee, share a meal without a body dropping in their laps. She won't let her brain carry that fantasy any further, though. Just this unresolved thing, a kiss in the dark, a kiss in the light, has too many unknowns.

She chews on her bottom lip and winces at the sting. Feels like she's chewed it raw. Kate sighs and turns over in bed again, still weary, still worn out, but her mind buzzing. All because of Castle.

She could kill that man, sneaking in here and waking her up with that creepy staring. If she wasn't the target of a crazy killer, that might not have woken her in the past. She was awakened, and she tried to be fierce, but Castle can't leave things alone.

He kissed her. (Again! some part of her mind supplies.) Chaste, simple, sweet really. Sweet?

Kate groans and sits up, drawing her knees to her chest and burying her head in her hands. Ridiculous. She is being so completely ridiculous.

She gets up and heads into the bathroom, runs the water to splash her face, but a sense of deja vu washes over her instead. Castle drives her to this, sleepless nights and fruitless daydreams.

She stands before the mirror, again looking at her own face, judging the lines, the dark circles under her eyes. She's in control of this; she needs to be in control of this. It will ruin everything if she isn't in control. A truly deranged serial killer has focused his sights on her, Kate Beckett, and if she lets a little something like the flutter in her chest distract her, it could be the end of things. Not just this. . .thing with Castle, but everything. Her life. His life.

She can't afford it. Not right now.

Kate closes her eyes and listens to her body, willing her neck to relax, her shoulders to ease, her stomach to settle down. She breathes in and slowly breathes out, counting to herself. After a moment, the weariness hits her so hard she sways on her feet, her head swimming.

Now that she's listening, she knows she's been run ragged for the last two days. She needs sleep before she needs to be flittering around like a Castle fan-girl with a crush.

Kate turns off the bathroom light and crawls back into bed; she's asleep before she can give it another thought.

* * *

><p>The moment he hears Kate in the kitchen, he sits up, his heart pounding. He wants to run out of his room and watch, but she gave him explicit instructions to steer clear. She's making breakfast; he can hear her opening cupboards and getting stuff out of the fridge.<p>

If she makes him breakfast, is she also going to serve it to him in bed? Because that would be excellent. At the same time, he might not live through an encounter like that.

He can't stay in bed while she's out there, just listening to her crack eggs. Yeah, those were eggs against the side of the pan. And then. . .hm, he's not sure. A little bit of silence and then one of his spoons stirring the bottom of the pan. Scrambled eggs? He wonders what she puts in them, salt and milk and butter and pepper? Or something exotic. Bell peppers?

He's working himself into a fit like this, sitting in bed with his ears perked up like an anxious guard dog. Castle slides softly out of bed and stands up, holding his breath as he listens.

Kate doesn't have to know, right? He can be back in bed before she comes in-

If she comes in. She might not. Well, she would *have* to come in and wake him up for breakfast, wouldn't she? And oh, that's exciting. That's terribly exciting. Castle's writer's mind comes up with scenario after scenario of just how exciting that wake-up can be.

He runs a hand through his hair and pads softly to the door, the frantic pulse at his throat practically choking him. He needs to get a handle on this, he really does, because he can't possibly be doing himself any favors getting worked up over breakfast, and at the same time, Kate is sure to take one look at his eagerness and change her mind.

Calm down, Rick.

He's learned the art of patience in these last few years with Beckett, studied it like an apprentice longing to be a master craftsman. He presses his forehead against his bedroom door and closes his eyes, listens to the rush of blood in his head.

His blood is singing _KateKateKate_.

But he can do this. He can keep it together. He's done it before.

Rick straightens up, takes another deep breath, but that's not helping. It only gives more oxygen to his stupidly singing blood, provides his brain with an almost white noise of need, swirling and murmuring around in his head.

He feels, slightly, like a man being driven insane. This won't do.

Rick drops to his floor and starts doing push-ups, channels all that super-charged blood into a worthwhile activity. He counts as his shoulders flex, as his palms press against the floor, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, a steady climb upwards into sanity.

At twenty, he still feels like he just started, like the skittering feet of arousal are still dancing in his guts. At thirty, his brain starts to notice the bunching of muscle across his back, the hard edge of his abdominals as they lock his spine tightly into place, wondering how her hands would feel there. At forty, he has the beginnings of sweat opening his pores, the trickle at the small of his back, and the sense, vague and highly erotic, of Kate just beyond the door.

At fifty push-ups, he is studying the pattern of the area rug for imperfections, assaulted by the impressions of skin and warmth from last night. At sixty, his body asserts itself viciously, the joints of his elbows seem to splinter, the rotator cuff injury from high school football sends out pings of awakening awareness, and the cords of muscle in his back quiver.

Seventy push-ups is a gasping number past his lips and the promise that Kate deserves more than a meager, low-scoring bout of physical exertion. Eighty push-ups finds his arms trembling, his back flinching in protest, and his toes digging painfully into the floor to keep him up.

He shoots for one hundred because he needs Kate, and push-ups will just have to suffice.

Somewhere in the pitiful, last-gasp dregs of the nineties, when he isn't sure whether he's on 96 or 97, when his shoulders have scraped bone instead of cartilage, he hears the front door open and close.

He falls onto his face, panting, trying to gather his wits as he listens.

Drat. His mother.

Castle hops up, runs a shaking hand down his face. He heads into his bathroom, glances at his reflection just to make sure, and starts for the door. His chest aches, physical not mental, and his hands are damp with sweat.

When he reaches the living room, his mother is standing in front of the kitchen island, watching Kate. And damn, Kate looks good in his kitchen.

Is that sexist?

". . .dropping by unannounced," Martha finishes up.

It smells heavenly. Breakfast cooking, one he has had no part in, and Kate standing in his kitchen. The only thing to mar the feeling swelling in his chest is that frayed, white gauze around her forearm. A reminder of what they're in the middle of.

"I just woke up," he insists when her eyes meet his. "And literally smelled the coffee, ooh, and the bacon-" He stops at the counter, taking in Kate's messy hair, still-sleepy eyes.

He turns to his mother. "Dropping by to return your key?"

"Very funny, very funny. No, I am looking for my aqua gloves because these clash."

Castle chuckles and leans in to kiss his mother as she presents her cheek, then uses the opportunity to dive for a piece of bacon. He reaches across the counter, only to have Kate slap his hand with the spatula. Their eyes meet, and he's not alone in this, not at all. She's got her lower lip between her teeth and that look in her eye. It burns between them, hot and steady. And in front of his mother.

"Well, she cooks," his mother says, giving him the thumbs-up seal of approval.

Okay, so even his mother has noticed this between him and Kate.

He glances back to the woman who does cook, and looks so good doing it, and he can see the near-blush on her cheeks. His mother's comment hit a mark.

"Actually my mom was an amazing cook." Kate dishes up strawberries and sets them on the breakfast counter, along with omelettes that smell so good, it gives his stomach fits. Then toast. The plates are set, the juice glasses out. "She used to make us Sunday brunch. And I would get the choice between pancakes, omelettes, waffles. . ."

For a second, there's the flicker of sorrow across her eyes, and he doesn't want that, not today, on their morning.

"Wow, that's funny," he starts. "Every Sunday my mom would have me make her an ice pack and a Bloody Mary." He grins at Kate, wriggling his eyebrows, and Kate's eyes warm, her lips curling into a disbelieving smile.

He glances back to his mother with that same wide smile, pleased with himself. Martha narrows her eyes at him, slaps his shoulder with her gloves. "Mm, don't listen to him." She turns as Castle hears footsteps on the stairs. "That only happened. . .twice. Tops!"

"Gram!"

"That's my girl!" Martha opens her arms to Alexis at the bottom of the stairs. "I missed you."

"Missed you too."

As they hug on each other, Castle rolls his eyes and leans against the counter, watching Kate as she watches them. She's got a hand on her hip, her eyes are happy. It's been awhile since he's seen her this happy. The red shirt drapes appealingly from her shoulders. "You'd think it was months," he hisses. "It's been a day."

That smile stretches wider, her eyes just so beautiful, and then her phone rings. She turns and takes it out with an 'excuse me' on her lips. Castle touches the too-hot omelette, snags it with his fingers, and tilts his head back, the egg dangling from his fingers. Baby bird style.

He blows on it, drops it into his mouth. "Hot, hot, hot." His tongue is scalded; he fans his mouth and holds it open, trying to cool off his bite. Kate is turning around to look at him, the phone in her fist, her eyes-

Her eyes dark and still. He pauses, watching her, flickers back to awareness at the burn in his mouth.

Kate blinks, meets his eyes as if she's not seeing him. "That was Agent Avery."

He waits, barely registering the fire in his mouth as Kate stands there, looking cast adrift.

"Jordan never made it home last night."

He spits the eggs out into his hand and stares at her.

She doesn't even seem to notice. "We need to go."

"Go?" He glances over his shoulder, confused for a second, his mind still churning with the idea that Jordan Shaw has been-

something. Something bad. Jordan didn't make it home.

"Castle-" she starts, heading around the counter towards him. He's afraid that if she gets past that invisible line where the kitchen ends and real life begins, he'll lose her.

"Wait. Hold on. Did Avery let us back on the case?"

Jordan Shaw is *missing.*

Kate's jaw works, but she halts just inside the kitchen. "Dunn's taken her. Because he couldn't get to me."

"Or me," Rick adds, thoughtlessly, and happens to see the horror wash over Kate's face, to see the way it guts out her eyes.

"Or. . .or you," she whispers.

"I meant. No. Kate-"

"We need to go," she swallows, closing her eyes a moment. He's lost her. She's pushing past him into the living room, heading for the stairs his mother and daughter have disappeared up.

"Wait. Kate. And do what? What can we do?"

"Something. Anything," she says, twisting around to look at him. "I won't sit around and waste time arguing. Are you coming or not?"

"Is Avery going to. . .let you work on this?"

"He called, didn't he?"

Castle regards the determination in her eyes and sighs. Yeah. A lunatic is after her, fixated on her, but she's never going to back down, is she? She won't let it go; she'd never have taken this Saturday off and enjoyed a leisurely day with him. Breakfast in bed? He was certainly dreaming.

Castle nods. "I'll shower, get dressed. You need anything?"

When she looks at him now, when their eyes meet, he's at least encouraged by the wistfulness he sees there (again). Regret for their spoiled morning. (Again.) She takes a step back, closer to the stairs, as if she needs the distance.

"Coffee?" she says.

He glances over his shoulder into the kitchen. The pot is full; it smells like the good stuff. And he knows just how she likes it.

"Coffee," he agrees.

But he can't help watching her walk up the stairs and out of his kitchen.

* * *

><p>Avery's call comes at the worst of times. It feels like such a cliché thing to say, but it's still true. Kate made breakfast, and she was letting herself enjoy this, the time off and the look in Castle's eyes when he found her in his kitchen (Martha *could* have timed her appearance a little better).<p>

She was letting herself enjoy this and it's impossible not to feel like that call is the price to pay for her distraction.

It's impossible not to feel responsible for Jordan's disappearance.

Because there is absolutely no doubt that Dunn took Shaw, even though Kate can't even comprehend it, can't think of why and when and how. Jordan missing is not something Kate could have seen coming or even envisioned, because the woman is as clever as she is unflappable and irritating.

And Beckett hates, *hates* what Dunn is saying with this. He's scoffing at her, taunting her. "You expected me to go after you again? How predictable, Nikki."

Oh, she can't go there. If she starts playing his game, starts picturing his devious, twisted line of thought, he wins. This is what Jordan did, and look where it got her. She needs to take a step back, needs to stop panicking.

Dunn took Shaw because she was the one without protection. It's as simple as that. He's just a coward. It makes Kate's blood boil, rage eating at her insides. And god, Shaw's daughter.

They have to get him.

She is thankful that she's barely had time to eat anything, because her stomach's tied in knots as she quickly makes her way up the stairs. Her mind is going a million miles an hour, intent on coming up with a theory, some piece of insight, something.

But why would Dunn –

Martha and Alexis are speaking animatedly in Alexis's bedroom, and it catches Kate's attention, derails her train of thought. She stops, hesitates at the door. She's made breakfast; if she and Castle don't have time to eat it, maybe someone else can at least enjoy it. So she knocks.

"Come in," Alexis exclaims, a surprised tone to her voice. But she smiles as soon as she sees Kate, and the detective feels a flower of warmth blossom inside her in response. It's a strange sensation, mingled with the fury and the helplessness still swirling there.

"Oh, Detective Beckett. I'm sorry I didn't even say good morning –"

"That's fine, Alexis, really," Kate interrupts, managing a reassuring smile. "I just wanted to say, your dad and I have to go to the precinct, but there's breakfast downstairs. Waffles, and omelettes, and pancakes. Just… help yourself."

"You made us breakfast?"

Beckett cannot decipher the teen's expression; surprise is still part of it, yes, but there are subtler things at play there – concern, maybe? Or pleasure? Suddenly Kate becomes aware of Martha's acute gaze resting on her, and she shifts slightly, offering only three quarters of her face for the actress to study.

Oh, there's no time for this.

"Well, yeah," she answers, trying to sound as natural as she can. "You guys are letting me stay at your place, and had my sister over last night, so it's only fair that I –"

"You don't have to repay us," Alexis exclaims, sounding almost indignant, and very much like her dad. "We love having you here. And that's what friends do. Offer you a place to crash when you're in trouble."

Friends. Alexis considers her a friend?

_No time._

"Well. Thank you," Kate says quickly, hoping to cover the sudden tightness in her throat. "But, uh, breakfast is made anyway, so. You two can eat as much as you want. I just – we have to run."

"Thank you, darling," Martha jumps in graciously, since her granddaughter is still staring at the detective with her eyebrows knit.

"It's no trouble," Kate answers with a strained smile, and she retreats to the door, anxious to get moving again.

"Yeah, thanks, Kate," Alexis hurries to add as Beckett walks out. And even in the middle of all this, in the middle of that white-hot anger pulsing through her veins, Kate cannot help but notice.

The girl used her first name.

* * *

><p>It seems like a sin to only use Castle's luxurious guest shower so briefly, in and out in a handful of minutes. Kate wishes she had time to figure what the fancy buttons are all for; as it is, concern for Jordan crackles in her chest, makes it hard to even enjoy the deliciously warm water pounding on her shoulders.<p>

When she's done, she grabs the towel that Castle provided her with, a thick, soft towel that dries entirely too well. The perks of being a successful mystery writer, right?

When they're at the precinct, it's easy to ignore the fact that her shadow's bank account is probably a hundred times the size of hers. A thousand? Beckett realizes suddenly that she has no idea exactly how rich he is – and she's not sure she wants to know.

It's not that money makes her uncomfortable; her mother's family was more than well-off, and Kate's used to fancy things. It's the excess that always throws her off-balance. Ridiculously large amounts are something she struggles to comprehend – like those stars who have ten different mansions in different countries when they can only use one at a time and never get to some, or the congressman who uses his campaign money to buy the yacht, with the Jacuzzi and the six king cabins and the high-tech equipment, for the mistress who's having his baby.

But that's not what she should be focusing on. Jordan is. Jordan and Dunn. Avery said close to nothing on the phone, and it bothers her. She's not like Castle – she can't build theory over nothing. She needs hard facts and evidence, and right now frustration is driving her crazy, because her ignorance makes for this rigid wall that all her kernels of thought and reasoning come crashing into.

She quickly throws on the first clothes she can find in Beth's bag, dark jeans and a black sweater. Good enough. Then she remembers – her spare make-up case is at the precinct. Damn. She doesn't want to go in, run into Avery and have to excuse herself to go to the lockers' room.

But she can't go like this either. Maybe…

She's knocking on Alexis's door before she can second-guess herself. Martha must have left; it's pretty silent in there. The door is ajar and Kate pushes it open when Castle's daughter invites her in.

"Alexis? Is there any chance I could borrow some make-up? Mine is at the precinct, and we probably won't have the time –"

"Oh, of course," the younger girl with a smile. She apparently just got dressed herself; she's no longer wearing the purple pullover from before. "Come here, it's all in my bathroom. See, on the upper shelves? I barely even touch most of it – but my mom keeps buying me really expensive make-up every time she's here. She says a woman has to take look her best, you know? Even though I doubt many sixteen-year-olds use Givenchy or Dior eyeliner."

Alexis's voice is light, cheerful, but there are other feelings swimming under the surface. In different circumstances, Kate would dig for more (for Castle's sake), subtly question her without appearing to; but today she just thanks the girl and makes her way to the sink.

Oh. It really *is* expensive make-up. Beckett feels somewhat guilty about using it.

"And if you see anything you need," Castle's daughter adds, misreading Kate's pause, "feel free to keep it. I use the stuff in that basket on the counter. All of that is. . .extra."

"Alexis, I could never –"

"Please," the girl interrupts, her voice pressing and a little eager. "Just… Consider it my apology, for last night?"

Beckett stops obsessing over Shaw's disappearing act long enough to arch an eyebrow and send an interrogative glance towards Alexis.

"For…asking about your mom," the teen adds hurriedly, a blush spreading over her cheeks. "I mean, my dad's told me about it, just, just, you know, the main things, and I wasn't looking to upset you, but I just – I didn't think it through, and –"

"Alexis," Kate cuts her short, intrigued by her sudden resemblance to her father, all nervous energy and tripping words. "It's okay. Really. I'm fine. Don't worry."

"But I could see –" Alexis hesitates, chews on her lower lip in a way that makes Beckett feels like she's looking at her own reflection. That same feeling she had, watching Beth last night. Castle in her one minute, and now Kate herself mirrored in the girl.

Kate sighs, fully turns towards the red-haired teenager. She can do this – she can take two minutes to make things right with the girl. Castle is right: Avery would have told her if he knew more, would have called her if he had news by now. Right? Even though her whole body is buzzing with the need to be at the precinct, odds are she won't be able to do much more from there.

And it's not like she's going to spend an hour braiding Alexis's hair, anyway.

"Trust me, Alexis," she says gently. "You did nothing wrong. In fact, you did *good*. Last night…" Kate stops, considers what she wants to say, and how to say it best. "Last night I got to hear my mom discussed in a good way, a happy way, you know? Remembering those fun times, and getting to hear Beth's memories – I needed that. It's been a long time."

She pauses, surprised at how true this is. She didn't fully realize it, not until this moment. But it really felt…

"It felt right. And Beth would never have talked so freely if you hadn't asked her. I usually scare her off." Kate gives Alexis a lopsided smile. "So, you see? No harm done. On the contrary."

A tremulous smile forms on Alexis's lips, and her blue eyes light up with tentative happiness.

"Really?" She asks, beaming at Kate now.

"Really," Beckett confirms with a smile of her own, unable to resist the girl's contagious relief. If anything, she feels *she* should be the one apologizing to Alexis for all the over-the-top comments Beth made last night. Alexis is sixteen, clearly, and she knows about sex, but it's something completely different when those jokes involve your own dad –

As far as she can tell, however, Alexis doesn't seem traumatized. She's still looking at Kate, her delighted expression tinged with uncertainty. She looks… She looks exactly like Castle when he's about to do something that he's not sure Beckett will like.

And then Alexis throws her arms around Kate, and hugs her. Hard. Squeezing.

Before Kate has time, however, to do anything more than raise an awkward arm to pat the girl's shoulder, Alexis's phone chimes, making her jump away.

"That'll be Paige," she says, checking the message she just got. She's grinning, pleased, like Kate somehow contributed to that hug. Participated. "Yeah, it's her. We were supposed to meet for brunch, but since you made waffles and everything, I just told her to come over."

She types a quick answer, then looks up at Kate in concern. "If that's all right with you?"

The question seems ridiculous to the detective – this is Alexis's home, isn't it? She can do whatever she wants.

"Those waffles are yours," she assures, turning back to the mirror to apply mascara, her moves quick even if her hand is a little unsteady. Why? Because Alexis hugged her? "I need to get going, anyway."

"Okay," the teen answers, her voice warm. "Well, take anything in here you need. And thanks for breakfast, Kate."

There it is again. Kate. She wishes it wouldn't get to her, but it does.

Alexis leaves, probably going to open the door for Paige, and Beckett grabs the eyeliner, determined to focus, to do her job.

There's another daughter waiting for her mom, and Kate has every intention of sending Jordan Shaw back to that little girl, safe and sound.


	12. Chapter 12

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Castle drives them to 12th in silence. She's back to wearing black, which he's always privately thought of as her battle armor, and she's sipping on a travel mug of coffee as he takes on the city's rush hour traffic.<p>

His coffee stays in the cupholder at his side. Since she is actually letting him drive for once, he's not going to ruin it by driving poorly. Nope. He's got lots of ground to make up, and something to prove.

The way they left things with Beth last night, he wonders if Kate has called her to let her know what's going on. Meeting up for lunch probably isn't going to happen, not when the investigation has hit such a critical point.

He has so much he wants to talk to Kate about, but this isn't the time. It's never the right time between them. He wonders if they'll ever have a first date, or if they've already basically had their first date and were just too clueless or chicken or busy to call it that.

Timing is everything, and their timing usually sucks. Or really, all these murderers' timing sucks.

He parks in the underground lot and nods to the police detail that pulled in behind them. Kate gets out silently, fingers wrapped around her coffee, and Castle grabs his as well. The whole group of them cram into the elevator, he and Kate and the two duty officers. The ride up is silent.

Too solemn. He doesn't like its tone, the feel of it. Like it's already over for Shaw. Like there's nothing that can be done. He knows Beckett doesn't think this, knows that she is ready to go, tackle this thing and bring Jordan home. She's always ready to take on Goliath, do the impossible.

Just looking at her now, the intensity in her eyes, the dauntless steel of her jaw, the straight back and unforgiving spine, he draws a little more strength from it, from her, just as he always has.

They can do this.

The elevator doors open and the duty officers get off first, then try to be unobtrusive as he and Kate proceed towards her desk. He's a few steps ahead of her, because Beckett stopped to grab a file from Esposito, so he sees it first.

"Did you let Beth know?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at the sight before him.

"I texted her. Why?" Beckett has her nose buried in Esposito's report.

"Uh, cause I don't think she listened," he says, but he smiles and gives a little wave at the woman sitting at Beckett's desk. In her chair. "She came to visit."

* * *

><p>Kate pulls Beth by the sleeve of her jacket straight over to Interrogation 1 and slams the door behind her.<p>

"Beth!"

"Katie. What is the deal?" Beth rubs her shoulder and leans a hip against the table.

"I texted you that lunch was off, that we're in a crisis on this case, the serial killer. Right? I distinctly remember trying to impress upon you the seriousness of this guy, the deadly seriousness. Last night, wasn't it? We made one of the unies drive you home, remember?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Yeah, so? Are you kidding me? This man is dangerous. And he's targeted me."

"You. I got it-" Beth is rolling her eyes now.

"He couldn't get to me last night, so he grabbed an FBI agent, Beth. He kidnapped a Fed. All because of me."

"Right. I got it. You're in danger-"

"And by extension, you as well. Dad. Castle. Anyone I love, Beth. You have got to stay away."

Beth looks entirely too pleased with herself for Kate's statement to have hit home with the woman. Kate crosses her arms and glares at her little sister, her young, impulsive, ridiculously naive sister.

Beth raises an eyebrow. "Did you just say *anyone* you loved?"

"Yes. That's what I'm trying to say. You're in danger the more you come around here-"

"No. I think you just said you loved Castle."

Kate's mouth drops open; her words dry up. She stares at Beth.

"Yeah. You totally did." Beth straightens up, walks around the table to the mirror set into the wall. "Oh, cool. Is this like that two-way glass you see in the tv shows?"

Kate turns her head to look at the glass, certain now, absolutely certain, of who stands on the other side. Just like he always does.

Beth keeps going. "So like, someone could be behind there, watching us right now? Listening to our every word? Totally creeping on us. Someone could have heard-"

"Beth," she chokes out. She can't take her eyes away from the glass. It's almost as if she can feel Castle behind there, watching her.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Not this. Not right now.

"Beth." She clears her throat and forces her mind away from last night, from this morning, from everything that can get her killed on this job if she's letting it spoil her concentration. "I need you to let Officer Torres take you back to Dad's. I want you to stay there until this case is wrapped up. Then you and I can talk and have lunch and do all that stuff. Okay?"

Beth turns away from the glass, gives her a long look. "Well, I came because I wanted to have a girl talk with you about that smoking hot writer you've been stringing along, but maybe we don't need to have that talk now."

Kate slams her eyes shut, refuses to react to that. "Beth. Torres. Downstairs."

"All right, all right. Bossy."

When Kate opens her eyes, it's just in time to see Beth sticking her tongue out at her. Oh my word, her sister is so juvenile.

"Baby," she shoots back, taking Beth's arm again and leading her towards the door. When they exit the interrogation room, she sees Castle slipping out of the observation room. She shoots him a not now glare and nudges Beth towards the elevators.

"I'll ride down with you. Make sure you and Torres get going okay." She jabs her finger on the button, but she can't help a glance over her shoulder to where she knows Castle is standing, watching her.

Yeah. He is. Right there where she expected him to be, rooted to the spot, making moon eyes at her like a lovesick teenager.

Suddenly, she's a little breathless.

* * *

><p>Slipping into the gallery is not even a conscious decision on Castle's part.<p>

It's just one of those things that comes naturally, after over a year of working with Beckett. When he doesn't get to be in the interrogation room with her, he simply heads for the gallery.

In this case, of course, it's not an interrogation – it's just Kate trying to talk some sense into her sister. Once he realizes that, he vaguely considers leaving, giving them some privacy, but his feet stay riveted to the floor. He cannot help being fascinated by their interaction, Beth's thoughtlessness (that he just finds adorable) and Kate's scolding, that big sister attitude she slips into, unaware, her arms folding across her chest (which he finds seriously *hot*).

He's not sure what Beth is doing, why she's acting so careless. But then Beckett speaks again, the words echoing on the empty walls of Interrogation 1.

"And by extension, you as well. Dad. Castle. Anyone I love, Beth. You have got to stay away."

What?

_What? _

Did she just–? He cannot finish that thought; his mind is spinning, _spinning_, and he has to lean heavily on the wall, breathless, his knees turned to jelly in a mere second.

But his eyes are still fastened on the Beckett sisters (he couldn't look away if he tried) and he sees the smug smile on Beth's face, understands suddenly that she was fishing for something like this. She set Kate up.

She repeats Kate's words, looking like the cat about to swallow the canary, and he wants to tell her to stop, stop before Beckett digs her heels in, before she can deny it all.

He doesn't need more than this, he doesn't want –

"No. I think you just said you loved Castle."

It's a struggle inside him, a dirty fight between the part that's so relieved that Beth also has understood this exactly the way he has, and the part that wants to lets Kate off the hook, that hurts to see her gasp in shock, only now realizing the trap she set for herself.

It gets worse. Beth springs to her feet, makes that comment about the two-way glass – how can she even *know*, he thinks, desperate – and he finds himself looking straight into Kate's eyes, those wide, horror-filled eyes, struck by the lightning of realization.

Oh, god. He needs to get out of here. He doesn't want her to know he heard everything, not if that knowledge opens that dark, terrified pit at the back of her eyes. But of course he cannot move, spellbound as he is by those green, bewitching depths that he's learned to read day after day, so he has to watch as she pushes back the emotion, pieces her control back together, and he sees how much effort she puts into it, the cost of it all.

And like the silly, enamored puppy that he is, he can only love her more for it.

He steps out of the gallery when Kate drags Beth through the door, eager and anxious now, his mouth full of the words that have been growing slowly inside his chest, like a parasite he only now realizes the presence of, now that it's taking all the room, blocking his airway.

But Beckett stops him with a look (a scary look if he ever saw one), so he glances at Beth instead, disappointed and uncertain. Kate's sister arches an eyebrow at him, and sends him a crooked little smile, as if to say, "Look what I got you. You better not mess this up."

Oh, he won't, he swears fervently to himself. He won't mess this up. It feels like a godsend, a present he never dreamed of getting – one he's not sure he deserves. Kate Beckett hinting that she loves him: the world could have come to an end and he wouldn't feel more shaken than he does now.

Unbelievable. Crazy. And utterly amazing.

He straightens his spine even as Beth walks out of the bullpen, even as Kate sends him a glance that he cannot quite interpret. No, he won't mess this up. He'll be a good boy, for once; he'll do it her way, leave her in peace until the case is done.

Because he doesn't need more than this unwitting admission of hers. And, to be honest? Right now, he can't deal with anything else.

* * *

><p>His resolve holds for all of forty-seven minutes. Forty-seven minutes, during which Castle goes to the break room for coffee, then tries to help Kate come up with a viable theory as to where Dunn might have taken Jordan. But this is New York City, a city so big that even if the man didn't move, they could spend their entire lives looking for him and never find anything; and it doesn't help that they can see Avery pacing next door, barking orders at his men.<p>

They've gone over Jordan's last known whereabouts. They've tried tracing her phone, tried tracing her car's GPS. To no avail. FBI agents, along with some NYPD uniforms, have examined every inch of the road Shaw should have taken to go back to her hotel. And then every inch of a few other possible itineraries.

And they've still got nothing. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Castle watches nervously as Kate's face tenses, as she works her jaw, eyes stubbornly strained on her murder board. Ryan and Esposito are down in the morgue, because Lanie might have found something interesting on Gloria Rodriguez's body.

The writer almost envies them. At least they've got somewhere to be, something to do – they don't have to sit there, feeling useless as Beckett's bottom lip gets chewed raw.

He wants to lean in and suck gently on that lip, ease the angry red mark with a sweep of his tongue. He wants to hold her close, cradle her to his chest, until she sighs and rests her forehead against his, lets him relieve some of that stress, that tension she's carrying around, that looming prospect of failure.

So when, forty-six minutes later, she gets up, rubs a weary hand across her forehead and tells him she'll be back in a minute, he watches her disappear to the bathroom with conflicted feelings.

Kate's made it clear that she wants them to keep their distance. He remembers her determined look this morning, when they were standing in his kitchen, surrounded by the smells of a breakfast ruined by Avery's phone call. She needs to stay focused, single-minded – he understands that.

And hell, just an hour ago, *he* was fine with leaving it alone.

But it's driving him crazy, the waiting, the uncertainty, the worry. And if it's enough to drive him crazy, then he can't imagine how Kate, who is the target, must feel right now. She's probably persuaded herself that it's her fault if anything happens to Shaw, because Dunn did this to upset her, did this to prove again how close he could get –

Oh, screw it. He's so going in there.

Castle jumps to his feet, surreptitiously glances around to make sure no one's watching. All clear. Ha. With the stealth and speed of a ninja warrior (almost), he creeps to the bathroom door, the soft padding of his feet eclipsed by the loud thumping of his heart –

And almost gets his nose broken when said door opens suddenly. His last-minute save is due in part to his quick reflexes, but mostly to the fact that he was, luckily, not standing too close.

He tumbles backwards, however, unbalanced by the suddenness of it all, but he still catches the surprise laced with amusement that crosses Kate's face (because of course, it's Beckett coming out; it wouldn't be fun otherwise).

"Trouble standing on your feet, Castle?" She taunts with that almost-smile on her lips, the one he's been dying to see since she got the call this morning.

He's managed to catch himself by then (with the gracious help of the wall) and he only wavers for a split second before he makes his decision. He snatches Kate's wrist, careful to avoid the one with the stitches, and drags her behind him across the empty hallway, and into a storage closet.

What he *hopes* to be a storage closet.

Oh, yeah, it is. Good. Beckett is hissing something along the lines of "Castle, what are you – I swear to God –" and she's resisting him a little, but not as vigorously as he feared. Same as this morning, when he climbed into bed with her and kissed the corner of her delicious mouth…

But it isn't time to get distracted. He closes the door behind him, turns to face Kate's thunderous visage. It's not all thunder though. Behind the clouds and the lightning, he thinks he can make out a hint of – is that arousal?

Eh. Maybe he's just projecting. He's always found her especially attractive when she's mad.

"Castle, we have work to do. If you've dragged me in here for –"

"For what?" He asks, suddenly very interested. He'd like for her to finish that thought.

She narrows her eyes at him, beautiful in that threatening way of hers. _Don't push me_, it says. And he doesn't mean to, he really doesn't – except she looks much better now, with that dark, calculating look on her face, than she did ten minutes ago with a stubborn, worried frown.

"For whatever twisted fantasies your mind has been spinning for the last hour," she shoots back, taking up his unstated challenge.

"How do you know my mind's been spinning fantasies?" He inquires, a pleased smile finding its way onto his lips. "Care to tell me where *your* mind has been, detective?" He steps forward, watches in delight as she darts the tip of her tongue to her lower lip, in an attempt to moisten it.

Unaware, of course. She wouldn't be doing that if she realized it just corroborates his theory that he's not alone in this. He wasn't wrong before. There's arousal in that wide-eyed look she's giving him, only traces of it, but still.

He wasn't wrong, but this is. This is wrong on so many levels: Jordan is held hostage somewhere; this is the precinct; he and Kate haven't even begun to figure out what this thing is between them. He knows that.

But that glimpse of red tongue he's gotten – man, he's half undone already, and it's his body in control, his body ruling now. And rational arguments won't cut it, not when Kate is inches away, when he can feel that energy between them. Rolling off him, into her, or maybe the reverse. Hard to tell.

The storage closet is blessedly cramped, and he has only to take one more step to back her up into the shelves. So he does, an excited thrill running through him when her chest brushes with his.

And just like this morning, Beckett doesn't stop him. She doesn't encourage him either – her neutral expression matches her careful silence – but she lets him come, lets him hover, and *finally*, lets him press his mouth to hers.

His right hand immediately comes up to cradle her neck, caress the line of her jaw, charm her chin, her mouth, into opening for him. And it does, amazingly. Kate parts her lips and gives that little sigh he's been shooting for, and she comes to life against him. She becomes quicksilver in his arms, warm and liquid, melting into his body even as she nibbles at his lower lip, her own hands busy at his sides.

When her nails graze at the tender skin there (he doesn't remember when her fingers slid under his shirt) he gasps in surprise, jerks away without meaning to. His involuntary reaction is all it takes for Beckett to gather her wits and drop her hands. Next thing he knows, she's slipped past him and pushed on the door. How can anyone be so fast?

She peers outside, seems reassured by the absence of an audience. Then she turns back to him – oh, those too-red lips – and smooths her hair while giving him an assessing glance.

"You better not come out of here right after me," she orders quietly.

He nods, because he's not certain his voice is ready for use yet. A smile touches her lips, but worry is quick to replace the amusement in her eyes.

"And no more of this, Castle. I'm serious."

He nods again, more vigorously, because he can hear that she means it. He didn't really think this through – he knows, for her own safety, that he had better not distract her. He wants his Kate back out of this, wants her in one piece.

Wait. Is she 'his' now?

The very thought is dizzying. And, as if he's not already having enough trouble with this, Beckett does something completely unexpected.

Instead of immediately walking out, she leans in once more, and sucks his bottom lip into her mouth. It's quick, but intense, her heavy breaths washing over his chin, her eyes meeting his in breathtaking honesty, raw need spilling out of them.

And *then* she vanishes out of the door, leaving him dazed, bewildered. What did she ask him to do? Not come out too soon after her?

It's not like he even has the means to do so.

When he does get his brain to a functioning state, he slips out of the room, grateful that no one is here to ask him questions.

Castle hasn't even set foot in the bull pen but he can already feel the change in the atmosphere, the buzzing activity, the steady pulse of hope, or at least of new evidence. He looks for Kate, finds her almost immediately. She's standing with Avery, listening as he talks into his phone; her eyes catch his and she gestures him over.

"They found Shaw's SUV," she says when he's within earshot, and the writer's heart gives a startled pang before it hurriedly resumes its pace.

Please, please don't let Jordan's body be in it.

"No sign of Shaw," Kate adds, accurately reading him. Her face is all concentration now, like a lioness once it's located her prey and now lies in wait in the tall grass, deadly.

Avery hangs up the phone, his jaw set.

"Let's roll."


	13. Chapter 13

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Castle glances to the pavement.<p>

Breadcrumbs. Blood splatter from a bloody nose isn't enough to follow Gretel through the forest to the witch's house. Will they be able to find Shaw before she's cooked? Castle's back in detective mode (although, he's not the detective), but he can't help feeling that this is all staged, all horribly wrong.

It's most likely a set-up. Dunn wants Beckett, sorry, Nikki Heat, and he's not going to be happy with just a measly federal agent. Kidnapping Shaw was the only way to lure Kate out into the open.

Castle glances around at the concrete, the parking garage on one side, the building on the other. The entrance is blocked off by federal SUV's, and the boys in blue jackets huddle around. Ryan and Esposito stayed at the 12th to keep running down what little they've gotten from the Rodriguez murder.

Kate is doing what she does best: establishing the timeline. He's not sure how that can help them now, but he's seen the magic of the timeline work before, and he puts his faith in her. Always.

Castle takes a few steps away while Kate asks for reports of stolen vehicles in the last twenty-four hours. He studies the pavement, the tire marks (which mean Dunn squealed out of here last night, and that's strange, isn't it? Why would he burn rubber to get out of the parking garage unless. . .unless Dunn wants them to know exactly how it went down? Unless Dunn wants to present his clues to lay an elaborate trap?)

Again, his flesh crawls. He glances up, skims the tops of the buildings with his eyes, checking the rooflines. That's where Dunn was before, right? Hiding out on the roof, watching them with his binoculars. This is a guy who likes to watch.

Watch Kate Beckett.

He has goose bumps under his coat; the hair on the back of his neck stands up. Dunn is somewhere close, watching, just like he always does. Watching them run around like fools.

"Beckett." Kate answers her phone. A long, listening pause. "Where is she?"

Castle jerks around, watching Kate's face. It's Dunn; he knows it is. This is all a game for him, a game centering around Nikki Heat. The bastard is close, has to be close, needs to be close. He wants to watch Nikki's face as they talk on the phone, as his voice reaches her ear.

Because that's how Castle would write it. That's how he'd create this killer.

He glances around again, double-checking the faces around him. All federal guys, all accounted for. No one extra, no turned away face, no man always standing in profile, no one on a phone.

Castle walks back to Kate, his stomach churning.

"If you hurt her, I'll-"

He steps closer, and Kate meets his eyes as she listens. There is something gritty and determined there, something that tells him she knows. She's aware. This is about her, and the longer she listens to this guy on the phone, the more resigned her eyes get.

It's going to be a showdown, isn't it? It's going to require Kate's capitulation to a deadly, clever serial killer. Kate is going to have to play his game.

And Castle hates that. More than anything.

"How can I be sure she's still alive?" Kate stonewalls him by glancing to the pavement. But Castle knows; part of him has known for awhile now, that this was how it would have to be. The superhero and the villain always meet up for a duel, for a fight to the finish.

Dunn is setting up that meeting right now.

Kate swallows and lowers her phone, her jaw working as she hangs up. Castle tries to catch her eye but she won't let him back in, not right now.

"He says he'll send me an email."

"Proof of life?" Avery asks.

She nods, still won't look at Castle. He wants to shake her, break that barrier between them. Because the barrier is up to protect *him* and he knows it.

"Where?" he asks her, reaching out a hand to grip her elbow. He doesn't care that Avery is standing right there, that they're surrounded by FBI agents. She can't keep hiding from him, not her vulnerabilities, and not her burdens either.

This is a burden she shouldn't bear alone. Not just because he doesn't want to see her suffering under the load, but also because it's not right. If she tries something as reckless and foolish as meeting up with this guy alone, she'll get Shaw killed, she'll get herself killed.

"Where does he want you to meet him, Beckett?"

She meets his eyes, expels a long breath. "Battery Park Ferry Terminal. Midnight tonight."

* * *

><p>"It's not my story, it's his-" she spits out, stalking off from the group clustered around the computer, pacing around her desk. "And if Agent Shaw was here, she'd say the same thing."<p>

"Whatever he's got planned, it's a trap," Castle shoots back.

She pivots, her throat raw from tears of frustration that she will not shed. "If I don't show up, she dies." And she can't have that on her conscience. Not another little girl with a hole in her life the size of a mother.

"But if you do," her Captain says, raising an eyebrow and sitting on the edge of the desk. "You both die."

"We need to get to him before the exchange," Avery interjects. She can see Castle's face just behind the agent, see the grim reality settling over his features. He wants to say something, she can tell. He wants to prevent her from doing her job, from doing what she knows she has to do.

She's not going to be stupid; she's not interested in being stupid. She wants to see where this goes just as much as he does. This thing between them. But first, she has to get this guy, has to get Jordan out of this safely.

_All because I lived._

It's time to buckle down, run the digital video through some of the fancy equipment in Shaw's war room. Get this investigation back on track. She's not doing this alone; she knows better than that. But they are running out of time.

* * *

><p>Beckett is good.<p>

Castle loves watching her work, watching her mind work, the way she jumps from one conclusion to the next as the pieces fall into place.

1746 48th Avenue, the Bronx. Abandoned building. It would be brilliant of her if it weren't also so deadly. For Shaw. For Beckett.

For the agents getting into position just outside that room. The room with the two unmoving heat signatures. The room Dunn recorded his proof of life video in, with the snippet out the window, with the elevated train rumbling by.

Beckett said she thought he had the trains timed, after his dash to the subway station where she lost him.

He's smart, he's thorough; he plans for every outcome. He creates an elaborate escape route from Ben Conrad's apartment that includes hiding right under their noses. He places a bomb in Kate Beckett's apartment, and not once did she notice that anything was amiss.

It just feels wrong.

Avery has left them alone in the surveillance van. This is beginning to be a pattern. He grits his teeth and watches the team's heat signatures move in.

This is all wrong.

"I don't know how he's doing it. But he's not up there," Castle insists, meeting Beckett's eyes.

"And what are you basing that on?" She doesn't look convinced. Of course she's not convinced. This is Kate Beckett, the woman who lives and dies by the timeline, by the evidence at hand.

"I don't know how I know. I just-" He sets his jaw, shakes his head.

"You just what?" Kate leans in, and her eyes are intense on his face, searching. "Castle, you and I have known each other long enough for me to know that sometimes, your silly theories are right."

_Well, thanks._

"So if you have a reason to believe that he's not up there, then you need to tell me why. Now."

"Just because. . ." Castle pauses, rolls his eyes at himself. "It's not how I would write it." He almost doesn't want to look at her, but he does.

Kate's frown is back, those two deep lines that run between her eyebrows and suggest that Beckett spends entirely too much time in concentration like this. She doesn't look upset; she looks. . .on edge.

"What happens in your version?" she bites out.

She's serious. So he tells her, all the things running through his brain. "He lets us think we found him, to lure us here. Let the FBI converge on the building. Only, he's not in there."

"Where is he?"

_Where is he?_ "Nearby. Watching. Watching it all unfold. He's got something planned-"

Kate's face has gone from edgy to spellbound in moments.

"If it were me-" And despite the flicker of denial he sees across her face, it's true. The guy thinks like him. Or Castle is able to think like the guy. "I'd wait until they all got inside, got settled into position, and then I'd blow the building."

This time, she's resigned. "Where is he watching from?"

"I don't know." But he does, he does know, doesn't he? It's in his brain just like it would be in Dunn's, both of them experts at setting the stage. "He wants to show he's smarter than us. So he'll be somewhere close by and out of the way." His heart is pounding now, all of the sudden, and he can't look away from Kate, from the intensity on her face, and the regret.

"Castle. If it were you."

Is that apology in her eyes? For drawing that comparison, for painting him in the same light as Dunn.

"Where would you be watching from?"

He glances to the monitors, back to Kate. If he's right, then it means he *does* think like a killer, he *does* have too much in common with the Scott Dunns of the world. He stalks Kate Beckett much the same way Dunn has. Only Castle's methods are more socially acceptable. Barely.

He points to the video feed. "I wouldn't be watching from this building where they are. I'd be watching from here."

The building across the street of course. Just like that day they had his apartment under surveillance and Dunn was crouching on the roof of the building across the street. Always lurking, ready for the grand finale.

Kate's face is set; she leans back, her decision made. "Come on."

He jumps up to follow her out of the van before he even realizes what they're doing. She presses the door closed softly, then sticks to the deep shadows around the van. Kate glances up, then side to side, as if looking for a way inside. She settles on a direction and Castle climbs the fire escape behind her, his palms slick with sweat.

This isn't going to end well.

Because Castle knows he's right, knows without a doubt that Dunn is waiting for the showdown from a nest, a little hidey hole, a place he's got all prepared. A place with an escape route, a place geared towards keeping Dunn alive while everyone else dies.

* * *

><p>Kate crawls in through the window and drops a few feet to the ground below. Castle is slowly making his way up behind her, so she takes the opportunity to evaluate their situation and measure her resources.<p>

Pretty grim.

She lifts her pant leg and slides out her back-up piece, makes sure it's ready to go, and holds it by the barrel as Castle drops to the floor. She offers it to him, knowing exactly what she's doing, but trying not to think about it too much. The consequences.

"Here." She'll be up for an IAB hearing anyway if they make it out of this, but at least it's not her service weapon. More flak for that.

Castle stares at the gun. "You want me to hold it while you tie your shoe?"

Cute, Castle. "No, I want you to take it, just in case." _In case he gets to you first, in case he gets to me first, in case I've brought you into a serial killer's lair with no plan and no idea of what lies ahead._

She's trembling on the inside, because this is Castle, and he doesn't even have his stupid Writer's vest, just her Glock 26 sidearm. She slides her own Glock 19 out of her shoulder holster and feels better as she hears the soft sounds of the slide dropping. She keeps her finger on the trigger guard and gestures towards the dark, empty walkway.

"All right. Let's go."

The place smells like wet concrete and dry packing crates. She keeps her gun arm up, sees Castle follow suit, is pleased to note that he keeps the weapon pointed away from her. She's fired on the range with him before, and he's a good shot; she can't forget how he pretended to need her help and then scored center of mass on the target.

He's had basic gun safety; he can shoot what he aims at.

Her eyes dart from shadow to shadow, but she can't help notice that Castle's face is hard. It's not the stubborn look he had on his face at the precinct earlier tonight, his fear trumped by desire as he pushed her into the maintenance room where the servers were stored. She knows that look well. No, this look is grit, and fear, and deadly resolve. He will do this even if it costs him his life.

And damn, it scares her. It scares her more than confronting Scott Dunn, the sadistic bastard who arranged all of this.

She never wanted to do this to him. She always intended to keep him clear of the dark side of this job; she needs him free of that dark side.

He's walking into it with her now though.

* * *

><p>Beckett hears the rattle of radio chatter again and slides around a massive concrete column, only to flatten to its side as she catches sight of Shaw, straight at her twelve o'clock.<p>

An infinitesimal jerk of Shaw's head towards the windows and Beckett nods her understanding, moves silently, slowly behind the column. She puts a gloved hand out to halt Castle, and bless him, he waits at her five, crouched for her order.

At the windows, there's Dunn with his back to them. She closes her eyes for half a second, a millisecond even, to bring the image back to life behind her lids. Shaw, the FBI agent tied to a chair, duct tape over her mouth, the deep shadows and half-light slanting over boarded up windows. Dunn.

She takes one more look to be sure, orient herself to him as he makes stupid, serial killer small talk to Shaw. Windows, binoculars. Jacket. Gun somewhere? On the makeshift table in front of Shaw. Check.

She puts her back to the column, her mind racing. Scrambling for a plan. For something to keep both Shaw and Castle out of the line of fire.

"Castle," she hisses. "He's there." Castle's crouched before her, but his face is that dark mask of tightly managed fear, and behind that, a courage based on something she doesn't want to name.

"I'm gonna draw him away," she starts. "You free Agent Shaw and get some help."

She's going to put him in motion in the opposite direction of herself, of Dunn, and if she can hold out long enough, he'll bring Avery and the team back with him. She just has to hold out long enough.

She's fairly certain that Dunn wants to torture Nikki Heat a little before he does anything else, so that should give her some time, should this go wrong.

As it most likely will.

She steadies her gaze on Castle, the man's face in shadows, his eyes a curious mixture of intense and bewildered.

"Castle," she hisses, watching him swallow hard. "You're my only back-up." She presses each word into the air between them, watches the way he stares at her mouth.

She wants, so badly, to kiss him good-bye. But if she does that, she loses her focus. And that is not acceptable.

Instead, she trusts that the tenderness in her eyes is transmitted, that even as she stands against a concrete column in an abandoned warehouse with a serial killer just over her shoulder, Richard Castle knows all he needs to know.

Just in case.

"Okay, go," she insists softly, and she watches him slowly flank their killer.

She leans against the column and steels her nerve, then swings around to face the man who just can't let go of Nikki Heat.


	14. Chapter 14

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by** Sandiane Carter **and** chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Castle doesn't like this; he doesn't like any of it. The look on her face when she gives him her side weapon – actually *gives* it to him – when she tells him he's her only back-up, and…<p>

Oh, he won't even start thinking about that light that shone in her eyes when she gently commanded, "Go."

This isn't good. No, no, no. Rick wants to stamp his foot like a five-year-old and say, "Enough now; game's over!" He doesn't want Beckett facing Dunn alone, doesn't want to know the outcome to that duel. He has unlimited faith in Kate, but the man is a *serial killer*. He's crazy, but he's also crazy smart. And he's got the ending all planned, carefully thought through, smoothed out.

This is a man obsessed with detail, a man who waited until the subway was passing by to record Shaw's video, who purposefully 'forgot' to black out the tiny portion of the window that showed the towers of the Whitestone Bridge.

How can Kate possibly win this?

The gun is cool and solid in his palm, grounds him to reality. Castle is a good shot; he's used a gun before. Only, never in these circumstances, never when it mattered. It was never for real. And the thing that scares him most, the thing that terrifies him, is that somewhere deep inside, a part of him is enjoying this.

Oh, not the biggest part, of course. The biggest part is sweating and shuddering, praying for Beckett to come out of this unscathed. But he knows that tiny spark in his guts, knows it for what it is. Excitement.

That's the little kid in him, the one who thought shadowing an NYPD detective would be so cool, who can't get over the fact that women actually ask him to sign their *chests*. And Castle never thought of it this way before, but that part of him, the part that isn't politically correct, that just bulldozes its way through other people's lives? That might be the thing he shares with Dunn.

Kate's voice, firm and controlled, rouses him from his morbid thoughts.

"I thought it was me you were after."

Oh, damn. Would it be too much to ask that she *not* make him angry?

But Dunn doesn't look angry. He looks – the thought makes Castle's hair stand on end – he looks pleased. Satisfied. Like everything is unfolding according to plan. *His* plan.

God, what has he done?

"Nikki," Dunn says, and Rick is surprised, once again, by the rush of anger, the fire coursing through his blood. He wants to pulverize the man, wants to feel his face crack under his fist, and erase all of it – the smirk and the pride and the twisted use of that name that only belongs to him, Castle. Not to that psycho.

"You came."

That sickeningly sweet voice makes the writer's insides churn; but it's not enough to scare Kate Beckett.

"Put your hands up, Dunn," Castle hears her command firmly, "or I will take you down."

Is he allowed to choose for Dunn? Because he'd definitely pick option two.

Rick finds himself disappointed, however, when the man puts the binoculars away, apparently intending to do as he's told. This doesn't feel right; he must have something up his sleeve. Everything they know about him tells Castle that this isn't the sort of guy who surrenders.

"I've got a better idea, Nikki. Why don't *you* put your gun down? Or I'll detonate the nineteen pounds of cyclonite that I have in the building across the street, turning Agent Avery and his entry team into mist."

Oh, crap. _Crap_. Castle was right about blowing the building. Wow. He really thinks like a serial killer, doesn't he? He doesn't know what he should be more upset about: this, or the fact that Dunn is trying to blackmail Kate into putting down her weapon.

He can't see her from his hiding place, but she must hesitate as well, because the next thing he hears is their killer taunting her.

"If you shoot me, Nikki, it might cause my body to tense up and push the button. Do you really want to take that chance?"

"They're not in the building anymore. I only sent them in there to throw you off."

Good idea! Good idea, Kate. Make him think he hasn't got any leverage. And for the first time, Dunn's face shows something else than perversity. There's a flicker of doubt, right there, before the man resumes his irritating smile.

"You're lying."

"Why would they be in there if I knew that you were in here?" Kate shoots back smoothly.

She has a point. It's almost sad that her words don't stand for the truth. Castle's hands are slick with sweat, his grip on the gun slipping. He tries to steady it, to relax his clenched fingers.

"Face it, Dunn," Beckett points out, calm and confident. "I beat you. Nikki Heat won."

Uh-oh. What was that look on Dunn's face? Rick saw it, the glance downwards, like he's planning –

Before Castle has time to do anything more than part his lips to warn Kate, it's already happening. Dunn lunges for the gun just out of reach-

"No," Dunn spits out. He throws the remote at Beckett, using her distraction to reach for his gun-

But he forgot to take Jordan into account: even taped and bound, the FBI agent manages to get her foot on the weapon first and send it flying to the ground. It gives Kate the time she needs to aim, and shoot; but Dunn has taken shelter behind Shaw's chair, and somehow he wriggles his way out, unhurt.

Beckett dashes after him, a flash of black and heels; and Castle, though he longs to do the same, rushes to Jordan's side instead. He pulls the duct tape off her face in a sharp move, knowing from experience that it's less painful that way.

"Where's my people?" Shaw gasps as soon as she gets a chance.

"Across the street, sitting on nineteen pounds of cyclonite."

He doesn't mean to sound patronizing, but if Avery had listened to him like Kate did –

God, Beckett's all alone, chasing after Dunn. The images that spring into his mind are *not* welcome, and they make his hands shake, make his fingers skid over the rope that ties Jordan's wrists.

"She was bluffing?"

"She was profiling," he answers, and he snorts inwardly at his ridiculous writer's obsession with the right word, even in such a moment.

The knot finally, finally comes undone under his fingers, and Shaw pushes him back, clearly as eager as he is to get Kate some help.

"Go, go, I've got this! He might out-flank her."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His hand instinctively finds the gun that Beckett gave him, and he runs after her and Dunn, feeling like it's entirely too long since they disappeared through that door.

The whole building is dark, of course, with only the moonlight and the streetlamps to give the rooms a semblance of lighting; he tries to do as Kate would, sweep every space he steps into, secure it. But it seems like such a waste of time, and his blood is pulsing under his skull again, and the song is back.

_KateKateKate._

It's no longer the soft, purring voice of arousal from this morning, though. No, it's the loud siren of fear, with the rythmic thud of his heart echoing in his temples for a background.

The song of despair.

Then he hears it, and the song pauses.

"Nobody has to die."

Kate. Oh god, thank you. Castle directs his steps towards her voice, her beloved voice; his heart is still beating out of his chest, but his mind has gone blessedly silent.

As he blends with another slant of shadows, he hears the bone-jarring clamor of two people slamming into a metal divider. The accompanying grunts are genderless, the sounds of exertion and rage both terrifying and reassuring, because it leads him further in, like a homing beacon.

_KateKateKate-_

He abandons all caution. He jogs down a long corridor comprised of storage containers, honing in on the source. A body being slammed into something unyielding, too light to be anyone but Kate, makes his heart pound fiercely. He needs to go left, but there's no break in the long line of metal.

He makes the turn at the far end of the warehouse, looping back with frustration, the place a maze. His palms are curiously dry even as his body flashes with a primal heat, adrenaline coursing through him. He takes a right hand turn the first moment he gets, but the tunnel leads only to more metal, more towering containers.

Another reverberating crash, and then it's Kate's pained groan, her gasp of surprise. He runs into another dead end, doubles back, heading away from the sounds of their brawl. Frustration claws at him and he keeps running, the gun held before him, straining to hear over the sounds of his own breathing.

Forget it. This is getting him nowhere. Castle clambers up the next storage container, using the metal rods running up the sides to haul himself up. He slithers over the top and slides back down. A row closer and the containers are no longer stacked so neatly, the sounds of flesh meeting unforgiving surfaces echoing off the metal, and this time he heads further into the warehouse, past containers stacked like child's blocks, haphazard and disorderly.

Kate.

Oh God.

He sees the instant Dunn throws her off, her body slamming into the concrete floor, her skull bouncing, her body going still.

Oh God-

He cradles the weapon before him, aims for that spot between the eyes.

And fires.

* * *

><p>Her heart is still pounding, but enough of the adrenaline has worn off that she can now feel the throb of her back, the pull of damaged muscles in her neck and shoulders, the bruises.<p>

Her head is killing her; she closes her eyes to block out the flashing, emergency lights, feels a wave of dizziness swamp her. The air outside is too cold to be comforting, but she relishes the brittle feel of it in her lungs.

Kate opens her eyes to maintain her equilibrium, sees Castle at the surveillance van talking to a guy from IAB. Internal Affairs isn't as gung-ho tonight as they usually are, probably because the Feds have it so well in hand. Jordan keeps waving off the paramedics as she stays in contact with the guys from the bomb squad.

They've yet to clear the two buildings. Shaw had been tied to a chair near bomb-making equipment, so the FBI has sent everyone outside. Scott Dunn is already on his way to federal lock-up; no one wants him in the 12th, even if it is Kate's collar.

She has bruises on the hard ends of her vertebrae. Stupid to notice, or care, but every time she moves, just the slide of skin over bone makes her hurt.

Both of her weapons are with IAB now, of course. She feels naked without their protection. She wants to go home, curl up in bed-

Except she has no home.

It's just - just the last straw. It's too much.

Beckett pivots on her heels and walks swiftly to the far end of the alleyway, skirts the police barricade, and heads for the night's darkness, needing it, needing nothingness.

Her shoulders are tight, her fists clenched when the tears break free, course down her cheeks. She sucks in an aching breath and ducks around the corner of the next building, slumping against the dirty brick.

She hisses at the contact, blinks rapidly in an attempt to control the angry, stupid tears. Kate tilts her head back, staring up at the cloudy, starless sky. Her thighs quiver, but she is not broken.

She's not broken. Not for Dunn.

"Kate?"

She jumps at the sound of his voice, her breath hitching in her throat.

Castle appears out of the shadows between the buildings, a pale hand rising towards her. She stiffens, for a moment forgetting everything important she should've been holding on to, and that's all it takes for his hand to drop.

She can't breathe so well. Her vision blurs with renegade moisture. He steps back, regarding her like a wounded animal. Something dangerous and cornered.

"Castle," she grinds out, hears the pleading in her voice.

And then his arms capture her, drag her in close, her body a wreck of bruises that groan at the contact, but she doesn't care, can't even listen to it, just presses her chin into his shoulder and squeezes her eyes shut.

She allows her traitorous body to vibrate with leftover emotion, then gets a grip on herself and takes another long, slow breath, testing the cracks in her ribs, the extent of the damge.

"Kate," he whispers, and instead of being strong again, clear-headed and focused, all she can do is press her face against the side of his neck and hold on.

His hands are everywhere, gentle and reverent, cupping the back of her head, fingertips to her spine, murmurs in her ear. She's not trembling, she's not; she's just tired and running out of adrenaline and stumbling against Castle's insistent hands.

He's stronger than she expected. Demanding. His hands survey her injured body, take inventory of the damage as if all he needs is a touch to know. And then his mouth is at her neck, sucking on her pulse, soothing the skin with his tongue, grazing his teeth along that tendon, upward to her ear.

"You're alive."

She curls an arm at his lower back, hooks her thumb through his beltloop to help her hold on. Her knees are going to give out if she doesn't do something.

So she leans into him, rests against his chest, flat and unforgiving, the feel of him burning her skin. Kate connects with his cheek, brushes her lips over the hard line of his jaw, feels the way his muscle twitches at the nip of her teeth.

Castle breaks apart from her, shuddering, his eyes too dark to see. She takes a shallow breath, rapid and unsteady, tries to gather herself.

He won't let her, won't give her time.

"I don't ever want to do that again," he says.

A laugh bubbles out of her, even though she knows what he meant, what he's referring to, but she can't help it, needs the mirth as an escape. "I think I might protest that decision," she says softly, curling an arm up between them to gain some space.

"What? No, I meant-" He sighs; he won't be amused. "Don't ever make me do that again, Kate."

"Go in as my back-up? Save my life?"

He growls at her and bruises her lips with a kiss so hard, so animal, that she only freezes under it, stunned, caught. He retreats equally as fast, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling under her hand.

"Castle," she says softly.

"It's not funny."

"It's not."

"Stop joking about it like - like it's nothing. Like you didn't nearly-" He chokes on his own words and crushes her, too tight.

She can't help the grunt of pain that echoes out of her lungs, has to squeeze her eyes shut.

"Sorry, sorry," he mutters, loosening his hold, skimming his hands over her ribs with so light and delicate a touch. "I can't. . .I'm having trouble controlling myself here, Kate."

She can feel him tense with need or fear, longing or rage. She's not sure. He's not his usually compliant, easy-going self. He's immovable, granite against the shifting sand of her composure.

"I want to go home," she whispers, not sure if it's even loud enough for him to hear, not sure-

"Will mine work for now?" he says, his lips, his breath, his voice curling around her, warm and firm.

His home is the only one she's thinking of.

* * *

><p>His hands are still shaking.<p>

Not the violent quivers from before, from when they took the gun away from him and he couldn't get his fingers to relax and let go; no, those have receded, subsided into imperceptible trembles. A mere nothing.

Still, he has to try twice before he manages to call the car service, ask his usual driver to come pick them up.

Castle doesn't want to ride with the NYPD or the FBI. He wants to hold Kate close, curled up into his chest, if she will let him; and he wants to take her home. *His* home.

He wants the privacy, the security of a town car, of someone he knows and trusts. Not just any cab; not tonight. Kate must hear the short conversation, still buried into his side (he doesn't want her to be anywhere else), but she doesn't object, doesn't say a word.

He's grateful.

Shaw's given them the all-clear, told them that she would see them tomorrow; and for once Beckett didn't fight, just took what she was offered. For that too, he's grateful.

So they wait on the sidewalk, at a safe distance from the droning hive made by the FBI agents going in and out of the buildings, relaying information in lieu of pollen.

Castle's mind is still spinning, like it's been knocked off its axis and sent, madly twirling, into the emptiness of space. Every minute or so, he has to catch himself and keep his stubborn brain from going back to those god-awful seconds when Dunn was aiming Kate's gun at her head.

Instead, he points himself in another direction, gently, as if his mind were an obstinate child who doesn't know what's good for him. He focuses on sensations rather than memories, on the softness of Kate's hair brushing the side of his neck, on her warm exhales fanning his collarbone.

On her fingers, tightly clasping the back of his coat. And the regular, lulling beats of her heart, that he can feel through the clothes if he concentrates, holds his breath.

She's leaning heavily into him, letting him support her weight in a way that he wouldn't have dreamed of three days ago. He can feel all of her, the length of her slender, elegant body, the lines of her merged into him; and this is what drags him back from the edge of insanity, slowly, surely, inch by inch.

He listens to the peaceful sounds of her heartbeat echoing through his chest; and words start forming inside him, opening him up like night-blooming jasmine, matching the rhythm of the blood pulsing in her veins. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

He doesn't feel the need to say them out loud. He doesn't even consider it. His lips find Kate's forehead, follow her hairline, a caress as much as an unspoken promise; and he lets the quiet certainty burn in his heart, warm his insides.

_I love you._


	15. Chapter 15

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Once the town car arrives, however, Castle quickly realizes that everything will not go as he planned. He opens the door for Kate, and she settles on her side, entirely too far in his opinion. Maybe she's made uncomfortable by the presence of the driver; maybe her bruised body wants a respite from his. He tells himself it's fine, anyway; Kate's a private person, and cuddle time is over, it seems.<p>

He still snags her hand, because he just can't go from touching all of her to touching nothing, and she lets him.

And that's fine. That's all he needs. He won't be needy, won't drive her away when she's barely even his to begin with. He can't help, however, stealing glances at her every minute or so; but he always finds her in the same position: her head tilted against the window, eyes staring at the streets without seeing them.

It leaves Castle with plenty of time (too much time?) to mope and think back to his earlier reaction. _I don't ever want to do that again._

She may have laughed, brushed it off, but Rick knows exactly how serious he was. He never, *ever* wants to find himself in that situation again. God, the sounds of Dunn beating her up, her head banging on the floor, and not being able to get to her... Let's just say he's in for some colorful nightmares.

So where does this leave him? Does this mean he wants to stop coming to the precinct, stop shadowing Kate? He closes his eyes, listens carefully to his own reaction.

There's indignation there, of course, for even considering this. The second Nikki Heat isn't done yet, he still has so many questions –

Excuses. He looks deeper. He loves working at the 12th, loves working with Beckett. More than he would ever have imagined. He would miss it terribly if he were to stop. But there's also a timid flutter of relief rising in his heart, a flutter of relief at not having to be this man again.

The man who aimed a gun a another man's head and fired. He meant to kill; he doesn't attempt to conceal that from himself. And worse – he doesn't regret it. When he thinks of what Dunn did to Kate (_might_ have done to Kate), his blood boils and that same animal rage from before comes to life within him. He would shoot again. Aim better this time.

Where does that leave him?

He loves Kate. He won't try to deny it anymore.

He loves her; he wants her. In his life, in his arms, in his bed. And – it's nothing short of a miracle – it looks like she wants him back.

The idea that he could have lost all this tonight – this hesitant, barely fleshed-out happiness between them – leaves him breathless, his mind a battered and bloodied pulp on the sidewalk.

Would he be better off not knowing? Not knowing what happens to her, the close brushes, the ways she risks her life every day?

And could he handle it? Because, if he's honest, it all comes down to this. Could he be okay with letting Kate do her job alone, knowing that if anything happens to her, he'd feel responsible because he wasn't there?

That would be the worst of it: not knowing if he could have helped, if his presence could have changed the outcome. He shudders just to think of it.

He can't live with that.

But can he live with tonight? Can he live with tonight and keep picturing what could have happened, what could happen next time, if he's too late?

Castle bites back a groan and leans against the headrest. He needs a break from himself. He glances at his watch – only a little after eight. So early: it's crazy. He's lost all notion of time.

He feels drained, worn out. He wants to sleep for a hundred years, with his princess tucked into his side. And then she can wake him with a kiss.

"We're here, Mr. Castle," Tom says with a kind smile.

Rick nods his gratitude to the driver, opens his door, and looks back to Kate. She's still staring out of the window, motionless, her face like white marble in the darkness.

"Kate?" He asks softly, tugging on the hand that he still holds loosely.

She starts, which is a pretty good indication of both how tired and how distracted she is.

"We're here."

He has to close his mouth before an unbidden "love" rolls off his tongue. Wow. Nice save, Rick.

Kate gives him a faint smile, takes his hand to get out of the car, and lets him guide her into the building.

They're in the elevator when her phone chimes. Rick has spent enough time with her to know that it's a text; he waits for her to read it, his brow furrowing when she doesn't move.

She's drifted off again. This is so *not* Beckett that he's starting to feel worried.

"Kate. That was your phone."

"Hmm?" She turns her eyes to him, seems surprised by what she reads on his face. Maybe he could have done a better job of hiding his concern. "Oh. Right."

She reaches for the phone in her pocket, turns the screen on. Castle is peering shamelessly, so he sees that the message is from Beth... As are the five missed calls before it. Ah. He forgot about Beth a little, busy as he was, saving Beckett's life and all.

Kate chews on her lip, looking hesitant. She seems so young, so adorable, that he cannot help himself: he winds an arm around her waist, pulls her back into him. She doesn't resist, and he suddenly wonders if he read her wrong in the car.

"You can call her when we get to the loft," he whispers, his nose brushing against her temple. He can almost see the slow smile on her face; then she wraps her arms around him, presses her face to the side of his neck, mouth open to taste him.

The doors of the elevator glide open, and he couldn't care less.

Because he has her. Kate Beckett is safe, alive in his arms, and he has her.

* * *

><p>She should call. But Kate doesn't want to call. She wants to curl up in bed and close her eyes and not see Richard Castle's face after he shot Scott Dunn.<p>

She should call. It looks like he's going to make her.

"Kate. Your phone."

She glances down and realizes it's another text. From her sister. It was easier, a few years ago, to have no one who cared about what happened to her. It was easier to slide into bed and forget. Her father drinking, her sister halfway around the world, her work colleagues too scared to ask. It was easier.

She's not sure she's up for difficult.

She stands in the middle of his loft, drifting, but her phone is a bright reminder of her tethers to the world, the things that bind. She reads her sister's latest text and is surprised by the lack of shame. Or guilt. Or urgency. She could put her phone down and close her eyes and sleep for hours and never feel the need-

"If you don't call her, I will."

Well that decides it. She doesn't really want the two of them spending any more time-

Kate shakes her head, closes her eyes for a second. Ridiculous. This is what sleep-deprivation and an unfair fight will do to her.

Kate makes the necessary phone call.

Castle moves as if he's going to give her some privacy, but she reaches out a hand and snags his sleeve, not sure why, not willing to look at it too closely.

She doesn't feel human right now.

"Katie! Where have you been? What-"

"It's done, Beth. It's over. We got him." *Castle* got him. Castle took the sidearm she'd given him, the weapon she had handed over to him, and he had fired. Aimed for his head, that's what he'd said. The look of surprise, and horror, on his face won't go away.

Now he knows what it takes to be willing to kill. And it's her fault.

She shivers hard and has to sit down in the floor. Castle, startled maybe, yelps as she thuds hard to the ground and brings her forehead to her knees. She breathes, feels him hovering, the phone is still cradled against her ear but she has a hard time hearing what Beth is saying.

"Oh good. When the police officer left dad's, I figured it was something like that. But I wanted to make sure he didn't just get lured away or something. Like a tv show. Jeez, listen to me. What happened?"

She has to breathe.

"Katie? What happened?" What happened?

"We. . .arrested him."

Why is her brain so slow?

"Well, duh, big sister, I got that. What *happened* though?"

"The FBI has him; they're holding him on charges. Kidnapping, murder, arson, felony assault." More, surely. Surely there's more than that.

"Long list. Katie, are you okay? You sound funny."

"Yeah. Okay. I want to sleep. Just-" Kate closes her eyes again, her forehead pressed into her knees. Is she dizzy? Has she. . .eaten anything today? Ug. The thought of food makes her stomach heave.

"Oh. Right. Okay. Um-"

Castle pulls the phone out of her hands. Kate lifts her head to stare at him as he brings it to his ear.

He took her phone.

"Beth? Yeah. Uh-huh. No, I got her."

He's *got* her? He's got her.

"I will. Yeah. No, it was fairly routine. Not a problem. Just good old-fashioned detective work. Following the leads. Yeah."

So he lied to her sister. For her sake. Now Kate's got him lying to protect her now too.

Still it's easier to tell the people who love her that she is safer, has been safer, than she actually was. It diminishes future worry. It also avoids sticky questions that Kate doesn't have a good answer for.

Why did she give him a gun? Well, for a situation just like that. He saved her life. At the cost of his. . .soul?

Kate leans back with her arms hooked around her knees, watches him listen to her sister. A spark of humor in his eyes; the lines around his mouth soften. She watches him relax as Beth takes over the conversation (as only Beth can), and Kate wishes, for a moment, that she were more like her sister. Fun. Easy-going. Not so prickly.

She wishes she could make Castle relax like that, unwind. She wishes that listening to *her* made his day look brighter.

Instead, she brings him ever further into her dark world.

How depressing.

Kate turns and gets up off the floor, heads for a softer surface. The bruises ranging down her back are making themselves known; even her tailbone is tender. She shifts on the couch and watches Castle get to his feet, that half-amused smile on his face.

He comes closer and turns the smile on her, warm and rich and effortless, and she can't help the way her heart rises in her throat. She closes her eyes to it.

"Yeah, I think so too." Still on the phone with her sister. Maybe she should keep him around; he can run interference with all of her family. She should let him take the phone calls from her mother's relatives. The ones who try to call on her birthday but always miss it by a few weeks, who ask if she's seeing anyone, when will there be children.

"No, really? Okay. Well maybe lunch tomorrow?"

She watches Castle raise his eyebrow in question at her.

But Kate feels curiously detached. She has flickering moments of self-interest, sparks where she thinks maybe she ought to wrestle her phone out of Castle's hands and growl at her sister, but they fade without a twitch of her finger. Phantoms. She should reign in her jealousy because it's beneath her, because it's Castle, because it's her sister, but at the moment, her jealousy is a wave on the sand, reforming the inner landscape of her emotional strength, coming and going at its own pleasure.

And there it goes again.

She opens her eyes and leans in, sighing into him the moment her head hits his chest, her side against his. It hurts. The bruises hurt. The aching ribs. The blossoming hematoma at her right hip. It hurts not to though.

"Yeah, we could do that too. Sounds good."

She feels Castle's hesitance as he lifts an arm, then drapes it around her shoulders. She winces and curls in, finding another sore place, tries to arrange his arm where it doesn't hurt.

And then gives up. She'll suffer through.

"Okay, I will. Yeah. You too. Bye, Beth."

He thumbs off the call and she can feel him staring down at her. She waits, willing to take her cue from him, unwilling to think. A bed. Or a shower. Hmm, either one. Can she do both? Can she sleep in a hot spray of cleansing water for an hour or so?

Maybe Castle will carry her-

No. Better stop that kind of thinking.

If she starts thinking, then she'll have to face the fact that she's curled up on Castle's couch, snuggled into him. Snuggled. Oh goodness, how cringingly lame.

Don't think. Go back to nothingness.

Oh. Well.

"I think I'm in shock."

That's what this is. Oh, it makes sense now.

Castle snorts. "Ya think?"

"Everything's. . .removed."

"I can tell," he answers, his arm light around her shoulders. "Bruised?"

She sighs. "Don't remind me." She enjoys the silence. Even in silence, it's not silent, not really. There's the hum of his refrigerator, the steadiness of his breathing, the scratch of his palm as he slides it over and over the arm of the couch. What she wouldn't give to have that palm against her back, hypnotic. . .

"Beth just wanted to make sure you were ok."

Beth. Her sister. Long-lost and all that. She sighs. "You're better at phone calls than me."

"I'm surprised you didn't. . .right. Shock. That explains it."

She grunts through a rising bubble of laughter. "Hush, Castle." She can't have him making her laugh right now. Not just because the shock is too nice, too blessedly good, but also because it will make her ribs flare with pain. "Just don't say anything."

"And ruin it?"

She keeps her eyes closed, her cheek against the soft material of his shirt. She wants to drift. She wants to not feel. Or at least, to not censor whatever behavior this is that requires close contact with his body, requires feeling his heart under her ear. It's warm and good and nice, and if she were more herself, she wouldn't let herself do it. How sad.

"All right, Kate," he says softly, draws both arms around her. It hurts, it does, like leaning on a bruise, but she wriggles a little deeper into the embrace, adjusts what she can, and rides it out.

His palm starts those round and round circles, on her back this time. She could drift away.

How long can she make this last before it breaks?


	16. Chapter 16

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>They're still on the couch – Castle's not sure how much time has passed; it could be only minutes, stretching languidly to masquerade as hours – when he hears the jangle of keys outside the door.<p>

Oh, Alexis. She left him a note saying she was going to the movies with her friend Julie, and that she would be back around nine. It must be nine, then. He hopes she got the text he sent her; he knows she was worried about the killer going after him or Beckett.

His daughter's red hair shines under the lights of the entrance as she takes off her coat, puts her handbag on the floor with her shoes. Then she turns and catches sight of them, and she gives a startled, happy exclamation.

"Dad!"

In a split second, Castle assesses the situation. Kate is half-asleep against him, or she looks like it anyway; he doubts that she wants to be assailed by another Castle. He swiftly, if reluctantly, disentangles himself from her, winces at her hiss of pain, and manages to get on his feet in time for Alexis to fling herself into his arms.

"Hey, pumpkin," he laughs, wrapping his daughter into a bear hug. He kisses her flaming locks, his heart tightening when he realizes just how fierce her hold is. Just how concerned she must have been.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she says, and he can barely make out the muffled words because she's speaking almost directly into his shirt. "I couldn't even tell you what that movie was."

"That bad, uh?" He jokes, and she chuckles. The sound echoes through his chest, helping release some of the tension there. "It was nothing to worry about, sweetheart," he lies easily. "No serial killer is a match for Castle and Beckett."

He loves doing this, weaving their names together as if they were a deadly pair of secret agents; it helps him forget, helps him ignore how close a call it was today.

Alexis finally loosens her embrace a fraction, raises her clear blue eyes to him.

"How is –"

He sees her gaze stop on something behind him, sees her brow furrow.

"Detective Beckett?"

Castle himself turns, an arm still wound around Alexis's shoulders. Kate has risen from the couch, and she was obviously trying to make her way to the stairs unnoticed. She stills at his daughter's call, and he can tell from her shoulders that something is wrong.

"I'm good, Alexis," Kate says after a moment, half-turning to them, but avoiding his eyes carefully. "Just, you know. In need of some quality sleep."

Her face is still blank, unreadable, but he knows her too well to ascribe that to shock anymore. Something else is going on here.

"I'll see you later," she adds quickly, and all but flees upstairs before he can think of an objection.

He keeps staring long after she's gone.

"Is she okay, dad?" Alexis asks, her voice quiet but charged with apprehension.

Rick turns back to his daughter, moved, as always, by her sweet, caring nature.

"She will be," he answers with a sigh. That's the only truth he can give her, not so much a truth as a hope, really.

"Was it tough?" She inquires hesitantly. "The arrest?"

Ah. What to tell her? He swore to himself, after that time Meredith promised to come and failed to show, that he would always be honest and open with Alexis. His daughter rarely asks about the cases they work at the precinct, but that doesn't mean she doesn't wonder.

"It was," he admits in a low voice, praying that she will leave it at that.

God, it was so close. So close.

Alexis bites the inside of her cheek, looks into his eyes. She doesn't want to know, but she does. He can hear it in her voice.

"Did Kate get hurt?"

"Just a little roughed up," he says, his heart in his throat now. It could have been so much worse.

Those last words don't pass his lips, and yet sadness and pain etch on his daughter's pretty face as if they had.

"She'll be okay, Alexis," he states more firmly, and he gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, anxious for the light in her eyes to come back. "I promise."

And then the light does come back, and she gives him this sly, shy smile. "Well, shouldn't you be up there, making her feel better?"

He gapes at her, at all the meanings contained in this one sentence, before a slow grin erupts on his features. Laughter bubbles up inside him, and he has to let it out – and boy, it feels good.

Alexis laughs along, against her will it seems; he grabs her, clutches her to his chest.

"My smart, smart little girl," he lets out, tender and strangely appeased. "Does that mean you approve?"

"You could do a lot worse than Detective Beckett," she points out with a mischievous glance. "Even though she probably could do better than you."

"Hey now," he protests, vaguely offended.

"But Beth seems to think you're good for her," Alexis goes on, her smile letting him know how she really feels about all this. "And I know that she's good for you. So get up there already, dad."

"Yes m'am," he replies, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

"And I'll turn the TV on. Loud. Just in case."

She wiggles an eyebrow at him in true Castle fashion, and saunters away to the couch. He shakes his head at her, his beautiful, amazing daughter, and then he heads for the stairs.

He remembers Kate's complete lack of emotion when she told them she was going to sleep, and his smile fades, apprehension tying knots in his chest. Despite his earlier speech to his daughter, he's not so sure she'll be okay.

Or, to more accurate, he's not so sure *they* will be okay.

* * *

><p>Seeing Alexis bury herself in Castle's large frame has snapped something inside Kate. One minute she's fine, drifting on a blessed current of nothingness; and the next moment every breath is a slow torture, oxygen burning its way through her lungs as she fights back the tears that press against her eyelids.<p>

She's not sure how she even makes it to the bedroom.

But when she does get there, she lets herself sink to the floor, her back to the door and her knees drawn to her chest; and tears spill on her cheeks, hot and unimpeded. She has to clamp a hand to her mouth to keep the sobs from escaping as well.

God, what is she doing?

What was she *thinking*? Handing a gun to Castle, having him shoot a man? She may not be the writer here, but in this instant a couple different scenarios play before her eyes, all of them ending with Castle on the floor, a pool of blood darkening under him.

This is it. No more.

She doesn't want to see the day where her nightmarish visions become the gruesome truth. She doesn't think she could handle it.

And there's Alexis.

There's Alexis to consider before anything else. Castle is all the girl has; Alexis never got the happy family life that Kate experienced until her mom was murdered. The teenager, with her clear eyes, her bright smile, hides some deep-running wounds. Taking her dad away from her –

No. No. Never.

Kate springs to her feet, her palms quick to wipe the last of the moisture on her cheeks. She throws her clothes from yesterday into Beth's bag, looks around for anything that's hers. But nothing is hers, of course, and a pang of sadness assails her without warning.

She'll take the toothbrush – Castle's toothbrush – both as a memory of her too-short time with him, and as the foundation for her new life, the one she'll have to rebuild from scratch.

The sound of the bag's zipper is terribly final, but Kate has cried more in the last two days than she has in the past five years. She's exhausted her tears; so she grits her teeth, rides the wave of agony that sends ripples through her heart, and she lifts the bag, adjusting the strap on her shoulder.

Then she heads for the door, unwilling to give herself time to re-think her decision. It opens before she's reached it, and of course, it's Castle standing in the doorframe.

Of course.

She watches his eyes dart from the bag to her face, from her face to the bag, watches as understanding dawns on him, as he sags in disappointment. The light in his gaze dims, and hurt comes in instead; Kate has to bite the inside of her cheek, hard, to keep the tears at bay. (Again.)

After a second, however, hurt is displaced by a dark, determined look, and Beckett understands her mistake all too clearly. She should have run out of here when she had a chance.

"Where are you going?" Castle asks, his tone belligerent. He's not going to make this easy.

"I'm going to my dad's, Castle. To my family." Speaking the words hurts her as much as it seems to hurt him, and yet she knows she'll have to do worse than that if she wants him to let her go.

The flicker of pain in his eyes is rapidly suppressed.

"I thought I had made myself clear," he objects obstinately. "You have a home here."

Oh, how she wants to fling her arms around his neck and never let him go.

"It's sweet, Castle, but we both knew it wouldn't last."

This time it takes him a second longer to control himself, to erase the flash of pure panic that crosses his ruggedly handsome features. He understands her meaning. Good, she forces herself to think. _Good_.

"What do you mean?" He asks, testy, unrelenting.

She'll have to say it, then. It makes her hate him for a brief, fleeting second.

"My staying here. Your shadowing me. Take your pick."

She deliberately avoids the suspended, unanswered question of a more personal relationship – she doesn't want to give him ammunition by acknowledging the existence of one.

Castle is getting worse and worse at concealing his feelings; there's devastation in the line of his mouth, horrified disbelief in the raise of his brow. Kate aches for putting him through this.

For his own good. It's for his own good.

"You can't be serious."

Grief meshes with acceptance in his voice, and that's probably the thing that hits her the hardest: it seems like some part of him has been expecting this.

Her heart is hammering, mutinous, against her ribs, trying to fight her cold reasoning with soft-spoken, entrancing murmurs of _"You love him. Don't let him believe this. Just tell him."_

But Beckett has had intensive training in ignoring her heart's deceptive song.

"On the contrary, Castle. You have a daughter that you need to consider first and foremost. Alexis needs you. Today has proven than this shadowing thing isn't safe for you. You can't go running around playing cop and toying with guns –"

"– and saving your life?" he interrupts, sounding bitter and challenging at once. He straightens his neck, as if readying himself to fight, and fight dirty.

"That's not the point," Kate retorts, her breath hot on her dry lips. "This is too dangerous. You can't keep risking your own life."

Don't make me come here some day to break your daughter's heart, she adds inwardly.

He stares into her, his eyes warm and charged with emotion.

"Are you asking me to stop coming to the 12th?"

He won't make it easy. Kate's throat tightens painfully at his enquiry, and it takes several tries to get her next words out.

"Yeah, Castle. Yeah, that's what I'm asking." She closes her eyes, debates the wisdom of exposing herself. "It's what I'm begging for," she lets out at last, aware that it will get to him more surely than any command would.

His eyes widen; he seems unsure how to react to that. His brow furrows slowly, like he's having a silent conversation with himself.

"What about us?" He asks in the end, looking curiously solemn.

It's now or never. She's no good for him. She doesn't want to taint his childish joy with her dark, depressing world. Kate takes a deep breath, disguises her lie with a sickening appearance of barefaced truth.

"There's no "us", Castle."

He sucks in a pained breath, as if he's just been kicked in the guts. She expects him to retreat then, with his tail between his legs; to let her go because he needs to lick his wounds, nurse his injured pride.

He does the exact opposite. She only has time to see anger flash through his blue eyes; in the span of two seconds he's closed the distance between them, taken the bag off her shoulder, and latched onto her mouth.

The clash is hard, his hot, bruising lips against the thin layer of ice that has solidified in her chest – his kiss shatters it. Her brain makes a vague attempt at resisting, at telling her to run; but Castle's hands have sneaked under her shirt, are running across her back, demanding, passionate, and her fight is over before it has really started.

She kisses him back.

There's no tenderness, nothing gentle to it; Castle is furious with her, and he's letting her know. He's pushing her, and she pushes right back, her fingers clawing into his shoulders, her teeth closing on his lower lip.

He backs her into the wall, erases the space between them, like he's trying to brand her with his body, leave his mark on her. It's hot, delicious, dizzying; Kate buckles into him, a startled, helpless moan escaping her when his mouth leaves her lips to fasten on her collarbone, on the wildly pulsing artery in her neck.

She might be ashamed of the sound if she didn't have better things to do. Her fingers thread into Castle's soft, messy hair, attach themselves to his nape, encouraging, needy.

She never wants this to stop.

After some time – Kate can't tell how much, can only tell it's too soon – the author draws back, as breathless as she is. He touches his forehead to hers, obviously struggling to get a grip on himself; somewhere at the back of her exhilarated mind, she finds this amusing.

She lets her lips brush from his ear to his chin, from his eye to his mouth, a butterfly touch that brings a deep groan to his lips.

"Nothing between us, huh?" He grumbles, his eyes closed; but his voice is no longer angry, only smiling, with hints of triumph to it.

Kate's heart plummets. Suddenly it's all too real again; Alexis, Castle shooting Dunn, the darkness that she, Beckett, brings with her. *This* – this is not helping. This is not solving anything.

She recoils in Castle's arms, and she can tell he feels it; but he doesn't loosen his tight hold on her, not a single bit.

"I know what you're trying to do," he whispers against her ear. She fights hard to suppress her responsive shudder. "I know what you're trying to do, Kate. But it won't work. You hear me?"

What? What is he talking about?

"It won't work," he goes on, quiet and confident, sounding almost relieved, "because it's too late. Too late, Kate. I love you already."

Her whole body goes slack, shock rippling over her. She probably hasn't heard right. He can't be –

"I'm in love with you," he repeats, sounding elated, his mouth ghosting her cheek now. "I need you. I can't stay away. So you see, detective, I'm afraid you'll just have to deal with it. Cause I'm not going anywhere."

Her lips are still parted in an unsuccessful quest for air, her eyes wide and desperately searching. When he meets them, she sees breathtaking sincerity, shimmering, timid joy, and so much tenderness that she fears her heart will burst any second now.

"Just tell me you'll stay," he prompts, apparently realizing that she needs help remembering how to use tongue and vocal chords.

The ball of warmth in her chest is taking up all the room; Kate feels unbalanced, her body unable to function. But the plea written on his face sends oxygen back into her lungs, and pushes words into her mouth.

"I'll stay, Castle," she hears herself affirm, promise, her heart not bothering to consult her brain on that one.

Truth is, she's never really wanted to leave, anyway.


	17. Chapter 17

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Castle isn't afraid anymore.<p>

How could he be? When she looks at him like that, when her eyes say more than she knows?

He's not afraid. They can do this. Maybe not tonight, or tomorrow, but soon.

"Kate," he says, his mouth brushing her nose, settling at the soft spot at the corner of her eye. Words have finally failed him. He just keeps her close, breathing the same air she does, stealing a kiss from her mouth when she lets him.

There's a solid knot in his chest. It's not fear, not worry. It's not doubt.

It's all the words he wants to say that won't come out now, the words they should probably say, at some point, but not tonight.

So he lets her go.

Kate leans after him, then straightens, her eyes clearing, the haze of arousal slipping away.

Castle moves to the bed and unzips the bag. He yanks open a dresser drawer and dumps everything inside, moving a few pieces around to make it a little less messy, catching tantalizing glimpses of cotton, silk.

"You'll stay," he says, turning back around to look at her. He crushes the empty duffle bag to his chest and folds it up tightly, making a fist around it.

She nods.

"And you know, Kate-"

She sways for a second, and Castle feels a flicker of guilt for pushing, tonight of all nights. Then again, someone has to push her. Someone has to require more from Kate Beckett emotionally than she's willing to give away.

Just as she's required more from him.

"You know you're wrong."

Kate brings a shaky hand up to her hair, pushes it behind her ear, drops her gaze.

"You're wrong, Kate." He stands across the room from her, can almost see the gaping canyon opening up between them the more he talks. But there's something he does need to address, because he can't have her thinking these destructive thoughts. "Don't think I don't put my daughter first-"

"I didn't mean-" she interrupts, taking a half-step fowards, pausing.

"You know me better than that. Don't you?"

"I - I do. I just-"

He watches her swallow hard. She's shaken, pushed beyond her limits, but he's going to keep pushing. This is the best time for it, the only time for it, when her armor has broken apart, her heart bare. "I do this *for* my daughter, Kate. Because she deserves a better world than the one we live in, and she deserves a better father than I've been in the past-"

"You're a good father-"

"No," he shakes his head. "I wasn't. But I'm better because of you. Because when I'm with you, the world's not a joke anymore-"

Kate's eyes fly to meet his, surprise etched into her features alongside grief.

"There's meaning again, Kate. Justice. Mercy. Love. All the good words that were cheapened long ago, they've been given meaning again."

She's a half-step closer, as if she wants to reach for him but still can't. Still. "I put you. . .I put you in a position you should never have been in," she says finally. "A position a father should never be in-"

"The position of saving your life?"

"No." She looks away from him, her chest flares on a deep breath. "Of shooting to kill."

"I'd do it again," he growls, stepping forward and capturing her arms with his hands, holding her still. "I'd do in a heartbeat if it means keeping you safe."

"You're not supposed to be protecting me, Castle-"

"Partners," he insists, sliding his hands up the back of her arms to round over her shoulders. He ducks his head to make her eyes meet his. "I watch your back; you watch mine."

She shivers and leans away from him, but he's not letting go. To hell with the words; she's more convinced with seduction.

Castle cups her jaw and takes another kiss from her, slanting his lips across hers, teasing the seam of her mouth with his tongue. She opens on a sigh and he wanders inside, a warm cave of secrets, exploring with abandon. His hands hold her in place, his fingers digging into the soft drape of her hair, his body crowding hers.

He eases away; she whimpers and follows his lips, reclaims possession.

Castle skates a hand down her back, tugs her in closer so that their hips kiss, her body surging forward to meet his. Her hands have wandered to his sides; he feels the shocking contact of her fingertips against his skin, his shirt loosened.

Kate grows bolder, pushes against him, slips her hands up along his back, her mouth hot and determined and insistent. He tastes, at the back of all of this, a kind of neediness he never would have expected from her. His surprise is swallowed by her thorough, decimating assault on his mouth.

This time, she breaks from his lips, licks the corner of his mouth, blazes a trail to his neck, sucks on his adam's apple as her fingers explore, never settling, the wet heat of her tongue-

To his eternal shame, Castle's knees give out.

He clutches at Kate, sways, and she holds him up with a low, sexy chuckle.

"Having trouble there, Castle?"

He clears his throat and lifts his hands to cradle her skull, stroke his thumbs along her cheeks. "Yeah. Just a little." Her eyes are bright with something he can't decipher.

"Was that for me? Or did the day just catch up with you?" She's stroking the hollow of his collarbone with two fingers, intoxicating.

He grunts. "Which is more manly?"

"Neither."

He huffs on a laugh and tastes the corner of her mouth, can't help himself, tastes her mouth again, rich and warm, and laughing. The need is still there, a taint of lemon or mint to the chocolate of her mouth.

"That was for you," he sighs, touching his forehead to hers, closing his eyes so he can gather his wits again. "All for you."

"You need a minute?"

"Yeah."

Kate wraps her arms around his lower back, stays close. She presses her cheek against his.

She's tall, a reed in his arms. But not brittle, not weak, strong as iron. Castle breathes in again, that scent, lets out a long sighing breath.

"How you turn the tables on me so quickly, I'll never figure out," he mutters.

She laughs again, low and delicious against his ear. "Part of the mystery, Castle."

"No 'us' my ass," he grumbles.

She stiffens, makes a move to pull away, but he catches her, clings.

"Too late to go back now," he says.

"It's not," she says softly.

He clutches her harder, a flicker of panic startling him. "Don't say that."

"You said it yourself, Castle." She shifts a little and suddenly, he doesn't have her at all; she's stepping away from him. "You never want to do that again-"

"No-"

"And you shouldn't. You should never have to do that. I know what that does to you, Castle - inside. I know what it feels like. How it takes a part of you, darkens it-"

"And what do you think it'll do to me if you leave me?"

"Leave you?" Kate shakes her head. "I'm not - not with you, Castle."

"The hell you aren't," he growls, reaching for her again. She slips away.

"For your sake-"

"Don't you dare," he snarls, moving fast this time to capture her. "Don't you dare tell me you're doing this for my own good. That's complete bullshit, Kate Beckett."

She stares back at him, but there's defiance in the back of her eyes. "Castle, this should never have happened. You should never have gotten this close to Dunn-"

"Look at the timeline, Kate," he blurts out. He knows how to get to her. Nothing like the timeline to arrest Kate's attention. "Dunn was obsessed with me first."

"You first? This isn't a competition-"

"No, listen. You say I should never have been that close to Dunn. To shoot him. But you know what? I signed a book for him. We had a conversation. He came to me first, Kate. What would have happened then?"

She shakes her head at him, pushes at his chest.

Desperation has removed all sense of dignity now. "He couldn't get to you. So he got Jordan instead. But if I'm not there, then he blows up the Feds in that building-"

She shivers.

"The FBI up in smoke, just like that. Then he'd have to up the ante, punish you for not stopping him. And he'd have come after me next. Nikki Heat's creator. He wouldn't have wanted anything between him and you-"

"Oh, God, Castle-" She shakes her head. "Don't think like that."

"I'm a writer; I'm paid to think like that." Castle takes a deep breath, feels some calm return. "But you know it could have easily happened that way."

She's silent.

"But I understand what you're saying," he says finally, giving in a little. "So here's the deal, Kate."

She shifts backward, finally looking at him. "The deal?"

"There *is* an us," he starts, feeling belligerent. "There's an us. And if I've got you-"

"*Got* me-"

"Don't interrupt."

An eyebrow arches.

"If I have you, if we have this, then I'll. . .I'll do whatever you ask, Kate. Anything. Even leave the 12th."

Her mouth drops open, all emotion wiped clean from her face.

Castle frames her face, begs her to see him. "Kate. I'll do anything you ask, so long as you come home to *me* every night."


	18. Chapter 18

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>On the floor below, the TV's on, but Alexis isn't really watching. The succession of depressing commercials is lost on her (not that she has any interest in how to erase your wrinkles or get your teeth whiter, anyway).<p>

Her attention is fully devoted to the stairs, and beyond that, to the guest room Kate is staying in. No matter how hard she strains to hear, however, Alexis cannot pick up the faintest sound.

The fact that the detective hasn't yet come running out must mean that her dad is doing rather well with that comforting thing, right?

Still.

The teen unfolds her legs, swings a foot in the air, undecided. She wants to help Kate somehow. She can't imagine what it would do to a person to have a serial killer fixate on them. Yes, Detective Beckett is the strongest woman she knows, but even she is not invincible.

Alexis twirls her red hair over her shoulder, thinking. A slow smile stretches her lips after a few seconds. She may have an idea.

She reaches for her cell phone, goes through her contacts and stops on the number she's looking for.

She hesitates again.

Will Kate be mad if she calls Beth? This is the sort of time when it can't hurt to have people you love around, right?

The youngest Beckett left Alexis a little dazzled after last night (was it only last night?). The energy rolling off Beth, the laughter always ready to spill, the constant twinkle in her eye – yes, Castle's daughter was entranced.

She always is when she meets people who navigate life with that sort of confidence, that universal goodwill, that light shining off them. People like Beth don't have to *make* their own space; they claim it, so naturally that one barely notices.

The teenager knows some of her friends regard her as a confident, self-assured girl; they're not completely wrong either. It's impossible, when you're Richard Castle's daughter and told several times a week just how special, smart, and wonderful you are, not to have a minimal trust in your abilities.

But it's her dad who's more like Beth, who makes everything look bright and easy, who can adapt to any audience, any situation. Alexis cannot help responding to that, opening up; but she feels that at her core, she's more like Kate. She's not a social butterfly – those things don't come naturally to her. She's shyer, more reserved than her dad or Beth.

So if Kate needs people around, the teen knows with absolute certainty that she'll never say it. Which is why Kate needs help. Alexis takes a deep breath, and presses send.

Phone calls are such a chore, she thinks fleetingly as she listens to the rings on the other end of the line, her thumb naturally finding its way to her teeth for her to chew on. She hates not seeing people's faces, hates the misunderstandings that can arise from it. But a text won't do in this case.

Beth's cheerful voice answers, and Castle's daughter freezes for a split second.

"Uh, Beth? Hi. It's, uh, it's Alexis. Castle. We met yesterday?"

Her tentative presentation is met with a peal of laughter. But it doesn't make Alexis cringe; on the contrary, she feels herself relaxing at once. It'll be all right.

"Oh, yes. I think I vaguely remember that," Beth answers gaily at last. "How can I help, Little Castle?"

The red-haired girl realizes once again, with striking certainty, how much she loves this young woman.

"Are you free right now? Could you meet me at a coffee shop near the loft?"

"Ooh, secret meetings. How exciting. Are we gonna be plotting for the long-awaited coupling of your father and my sister?"

Alexis gapes at her phone, unable to think of an appropriate response. But Beth doesn't need one; she laughs again, goes on, "Seems like we are. Count me in. Where and when?"

Well, if that's all it takes.

* * *

><p>The coffee shop is one Alexis often goes to with her friends. The walls are painted in bright colors, the armchairs sinfully comfortable, and the cupcakes are simply to die for. She gets there first and orders two cups of tea, along with vanilla cupcakes – those are irresistible.<p>

She settles down, pleasantly surprised to find the place half-empty. Most of the time it's packed, and it's not even that late. Ten pm on a Saturday. Well, Alexis isn't sorry that the usual customers have apparently found better things to do.

She's typing a text when the ruffle of a jacket being thrown on the armchair across from her startles her.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Beth offers with a smile. "But that was quite a jump. Who are you writing to, looking so guilty?"

"Oh, uh, no one," Alexis hastens to answer, feeling her cheeks heat up.

Beth arches a Beckett eyebrow.

"A boy from school, who's…nice," she admits, shrugging and willing the blush to go away.

"Good for you," the young woman comments with a wink, sinking into the armchair.

Even that movement, which is supposed to be supremely ungraceful, which no one should be able to pull off with this kind of ease, looks wonderful on Beth. Alexis feels a twinge of jealousy.

"Oh, is that for me?" Kate's sister asks, gesturing to the teacup and the cake.

"Uh, yeah. I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I ordered the same as me, but if –"

"That smells wonderful," Beth reassures her with a smile. "And it's very sweet of you. Thanks."

She takes a sip of tea and closes her eyes in pleasure. If she's only doing it to appease Alexis's nerves… Well, it's working.

"So, what's the plan?" Beth asks, relaxed, blissful.

"Oh. Well. There isn't one, not really. I just thought…"

"You just thought?"

"I wanted to do something for Kate. She looked exhausted when I came home tonight, and so sad…"

"She did?"

Beth's green eyes have flown open again; they're staring at Alexis, intense and concerned. It's strange, how quickly she can go from nonchalant to caring. Like Alexis's father himself.

"Yeah," she answers honestly. "I don't know what happened exactly, but I think the arrest didn't go so well. Dad said Detective Beckett got a little roughed up –"

"Did he? He told me it went fine," the older woman exclaims, sounding at once surprised and slightly indignant.

"Well, they're fine now," Alexis adds quickly, unwilling to turn Beth against her dad. "But, you know. It's impossible not to be affected by something like this."

Beth tilts her head at her, looking thoughtful. "You're right. You're a perceptive girl, Alexis."

What is she supposed to say to that? 'Thanks'?

"Katie is so good at concealing her feelings," Beth goes on, sparing her the trouble of an answer. "Always was. Sometimes, I let myself be tricked. I just want to believe it, I guess."

The young woman bites her lip, shakes her head at herself. Is that anger?

"It was easier that way, after our mom died. Easier to pretend that Kate wasn't affected, to pretend I believed in that façade she put up for me. I would never have been able to leave otherwise. And sometimes, I wonder. If she was aware of this, if she did it on purpose. Like she was trying to protect me, even subconsciously, you know?"

Alexis is breathlessly absorbing this new information, riveted by the view of Kate it gives her, by how much it reveals about Beth as well.

The young woman's curls shine under the gentle lights as she smiles, meets Alexis's eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to burden you with all this, or get all maudlin."

"No, no. It's fine. Really. It's…interesting."

Fascinating, in fact.

Beth considers her, hesitates for a second. It's a surprising look on her, one that doesn't fit very well.

"What is Kate like now?" She asks at last, her voice very low.

Alexis is taken aback by the question.

"But you… just saw her last night."

"Yes, yes, but… She was with me the whole time. She tends to revert to her old ways around me. A sister thing, right? I'm just…curious."

The sisters comment catches in the teenager's throat. She wants something like this, wants it so bad. She'll never get it now, and she's gotten used to being an only child, but still. A little sister to play with, to read stories to, to dress up like a princess. A sister to tell your secrets to. A sister to tag-team with against your parents.

Alexis swallows the burning, painful desire that she thought deeply buried, but which instead has sprung to life so readily inside her.

Beth finishes, unaware, "I feel like I hardly know my sister anymore, Alexis. And it's my own fault. So do you think you could just – tell me what she's like with you?"

Oh. Castle's daughter feels compassion blossom in her chest, and she impulsively reaches out for Beth's hand.

"Detective Beckett, Kate, I mean, is… She's really wonderful. And so strong. So…independent. Before her, my dad had pretty terrible taste in women, you know. He tried to keep them from me, but he can't control all the newspapers. And his ex-wives… I love my mom, but she's even more immature than he is. And his second wife, Gina… She tried, you know? She tried to get along with me, tried to be good to my dad, but –" Alexis pauses, suddenly wondering if she should be telling Beth these things. Oh, well. It's not like it's secret, after all.

"I think they got married for the wrong reasons. They liked each other well enough, but it wasn't…"

"Love?" Beth offers with a bittersweet smile. She looks like she knows what Alexis is talking about.

"Yeah, no. Passion, maybe, but not love. But, uh, back to Kate. Your sister, she's so smart, so confident. She keeps my dad in line. Oh, Beth, you should hear them sometimes. It's hilarious. The things she tells him – I'd never dare say stuff like that to a guy. And yet it's so funny, you know. She's always so witty and, I –" Alexis fumbles for words, because the ones she comes up with don't seem satisfying.

"Does she impress you?" Beth asks, a curious light in her eyes.

"Yes," the redhead admits shamelessly. "But she also…"

"Makes you want to be like her? Want to be her friend?"

"Yes," Alexis whispers, a little surprised at how accurate the description is. "Yeah, exactly."

"Same old Kate," Beth says to herself, raw emotion in her voice.

"She was like that? When you were younger?"

Now that Pandora's box has been opened, Alexis is dying to know, is unable to quell the curiosity pulsing inside her.

"Oh, yeah. It was so strange. She wasn't so confident back then, and she didn't have a clue. All my friends wanted to be like her; they were always telling me, 'Oh, Beth, your sister's so *pretty*,' or so smart, or so classy. I mean, I was popular and all – I was the funny kid – but Kate just had that aura of mystery that followed her wherever she went. It was shyness, really, but I was the only one who knew that. I remember that one time… She came into my room, asking to borrow some earrings for a date with some guy that she really, really liked. She hadn't told me about it, because she was so very private with her feelings, but I could always tell with Katie. The less she talked about someone, the more she liked them. So, anyway, she comes into my room, I give her the earrings, and she puts them on. She glances at herself in the mirror, then turns to me, and says, 'How do I look?'"

Alexis is captivated. She's unwittingly leaned forward, to get closer to Beth and not risk missing a single word. An excited smile plays over Alexis's face at the memory that Beth's story evokes for her – Kate Beckett in that gorgeous red dress, headed for the MADT charity with her dad, standing all nervous and shy at the door of the loft.

Beth is lost in her recollections; her eyes are bright and her features animated, flushed. Alexis realizes with some surprise that she no longer sees the resemblance between the two women. Their personalities are so different; once you get to know them, the likeness isn't as striking as it appears at first.

"Oh, you should have seen her," Beth says, laughing. "Here she was, drop dead gorgeous, with a tight little black dress that showed off her figure, a pair of ridiculous heels and clutching a little purse. She had done her hair up, but there were a few tendrils running along her neck. She was just *beautiful*. And she asks innocently, 'How do I look'?"

"Were you two really close?" Alexis asks, unable to help herself.

"Yeah, I guess. We always got on pretty well. Two years isn't a big difference. We fought a lot when she was around sixteen and I was like, fourteen, but before and after that… Yes, we were close. She let me borrow her clothes, too," Beth says with a grin, wiggling her eyebrow. "When I was sixteen, we were roughly the same size. That was heaven, Alexis. Imagine, having an extra wardrobe for when you get tired of yours?"

Castle's daughter grins back. Yeah, that sounds very, very lovely. And no, it's absolutely not the same as being able to go out and buy a dozen new things whenever you're tired of your clothes.

But then Beth grows serious again. Alexis doesn't understand what's happened, how the lightness of that clothes-oriented conversation can have led to this concerned, regretful look on the woman's face.

"Kate always made me come first," Beth says in a subdued, pained voice. "Never said no to me, not once. And then the first time she asked something important from me…"

Alexis's hand is still resting near Beth's; she takes it again, gives a gentle squeeze. She's not sure what happened between the Beckett sisters, but obviously, it wasn't all pleasant.

"I want to help her, Alexis." Beth's chin goes up, and she stares into Alexis's eyes, determined and beautiful. "I want to see her happy. The only reason I'm happy now is because of her. She took care of everything, let me make my own decisions. Gave me the opportunity to leave. I want my sister happy."

"Well," Castle's daughter says with a crooked smile, "I think I know the way to do just that."


	19. Chapter 19

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Kate follows Castle back down the stairs, her hand skimming the railing just as her thoughts skim the surface of the dark emotional whirlpool swirling in her head. She doesn't want to think about it, about what this means or what they're doing, because when he's nearby, when he's close and attentive and watchful, she doesn't feel on edge anymore. She feels. . .<p>

At home.

Oh no, too deep. She's gone too deep. She's got to swim for the surface again, keep it light, keep it weightless. Just for now. No thinking for now-

"Kate?"

He's already in the kitchen, watching her panic in the middle of the stairs. And then that little trembling verse from A.A. Milne's poem goes through her head, over and over, "Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit. There really isn't any other quite like it. It's not at the bottom; it's not at the top." Her mother used to read Milne to her, and she always imagined Christopher Robin with his head in his hands, sitting on the step. Halfway down the stairs, halfway down-

And then of course, her brain supplies the rest of it, shockingly accurate to her situation: "And all sorts of funny thoughts run 'round my head. It isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead."

She hesitates on that halfway stair, then goes ahead and sits down, tries to arrest the sensation that real life is creeping up on her, that she will have to face this sooner rather than later.

She doesn't want to. She wants to continue on in ignorant bliss. She wants to be like Christopher Robin and just stay halfway.

Kate buries her head in her hands and tries to breathe. Never has she broken down so completely in front of someone before. Never. Not with Will, not in other serious relationships. Not even in front of her father. At least, not since she was very little, since she herself was playing with Winnie the Pooh.

Never in front of Beth. At least there is that. Beth isn't here to see the damaged Kate.

"Kate." His body is suddenly surrounding hers on the stair. Warm and confident, no longer hesitant. She lifts her face to his and hopes she doesn't look as terribly confused as she feels.

He sighs and sits down beside her. "What's going on, Kate?"

"I'm thinking too much," she says honestly, turning her head to him because if she keeps him in her line of sight, his concerned and familiar face, the face of her friend, her partner, then it's okay. She's not confused then.

"Probably not the best idea, after the day we've had."

She smiles faintly at that, rests her cheek against her knees to simply study him. It's only fair. Castle watches her all the time. Now it's her turn.

He's letting her, simply watching her as well, without judgment or expectation. His eyes are that uncertain color because of the light over the stairs casting shadows. The lines on his face really do make him rugged, like the rough-riding hero of a space-cowboy show, all natural good looks and easy charm. Even with the strange shadows, his face seems transformed by the faint smile threatening to break out.

She can't help wanting to touch, though a part of her rebels at the instinct, warns her way. Too much touching already, too much for plausible deniability tomorrow, but tomorrow, Kate will be here. At his loft. And this halfway down the stairs feeling, being neither here nor there, will continue.

She's not allowed back until IAB clears the shooting (any time she discharges her weapon, she's got to go through that). So. . .

So Kate lifts her right hand and touches him. Her fingers feather through the hair at his temple that likes to stick out. It's softer than she expected (not that she wonders what his hair feels like) and his skin is so warm when the heel of her hand brushes the firm rise of his cheek.

Her fingers trace the outside of his ear, as if tucking back the spikes, brush the too-soft lobe, the baby hair that gives way to the abrasive scratch of stubble at his jaw. Something dark shifts in his eyes, dark and dangerous, and it calls to the thing inside her that wants to stretch, to lift up and straddle his hips and ride-

Kate takes a shocked, inward breath, blinks to rid herself of that startling, too vivid image, dropping her hand. Not tonight. Not tonight because even though she's struggling to hold onto all the little pieces, she at least knows better than to start something that tomorrow's light might not look too kindly on.

Now, if tomorrow comes, and the next tomorrow comes, and then a week from now comes and she still wants to lift up over him, see his eyes so dark and needy, feel his hands gripping her hips, then that's something else entirely. Something she'll work on.

But not tonight.

With that decision made, a strange peace settles over her. Not the peace of indifference or shock, but of certainty. Of knowing what a week from now will look like and accepting it.

So. It's come to this - and so soon.

How long has she known, and not known, and kept it from herself?

How she loves him.

Kate lifts her head from her knees and props herself up with her chin in her hands, watches him a second longer for confirmation, or maybe just to revel in it. Then she leans so that their shoulders touch, so that she's got her full weight on him, so that she can sigh and turn her nose to the round, tapering edge of his deltoid. She smells, so faintly, the scent of stale sweat and clean deodorant, a mixture she's unconsciously gotten used to over the years and which reminds her, somehow, of home.

Home.

That word again. And the things it implies.

_If I come home to him_.

Castle's arm snakes around her shoulders and pulls her in closer, himself leaning against the railing of his stairs so that they are comfortably together. She feels the pressure of his lips against her hair, the affirmation of a kiss that requires nothing in return.

Kate, without thought or reason, laces her fingers through his and brings the back of his hand to her lips. He clutches her tighter in reflex, but she rotates her wrist so that she can brush her mouth over his palm instead and seal that kiss with their joined, clasped hands.

Unbroken.

Then she says the words she didn't mean to say tonight:

"I could come home to this."

* * *

><p>Castle will believe her - for tonight. He will trust that she means those words, but tomorrow, he won't hold her to them.<p>

This isn't a good night for promises from Kate.

He could stay like this forever, side by side in the middle of the staircase, but Kate's stomach growls loudly and they both laugh.

"Hungry?"

"Mm, didn't think I was," she admits. "But I suppose so."

"Anything you want to eat?"

"Whatever you want to make?" she shoots back, but her confidence is marred by the hesitation in her eyes.

There are so many answers he'd like to reply with, but they all boil down to this: _Anything for you._ And he supposes that's not such a great thing to say right now. So he stands up and starts down the stairs with Kate following.

Alexis isn't on the couch watching television, but there's a note on the kitchen island. She's left a hasty message:

_At Central Perk. Back before 12. Love you both._

Castle leaves it out in front of Kate, sharing his daughter's sentiment.

"Central Perk?" Kate asks. "Isn't that-"

"Yeah. From 'Friends.' But really, it's just that little neighborhood coffee shop a couple blocks over. You and I went there-"

Kate smiles slowly. "Yeah. Dessert."

"Well, that's just where Alexis meets all her friends. They've got the same atmosphere, the big couches, deep armchairs. All that. So it's kind of a family joke."

He moves around the kitchen as he speaks, checking the contents of his fridge and freezer and trying to discover a brilliant idea lurking behind the riccotta cheese and the grape tomatoes.

Nothing. Salad. That will hardly fill them up. "Let's order in," he says, turning back to her and closing the door on the refrigerator.

She nods. "Good idea."

He has the phone in his hand already, thumb paused to dial, when he realizes he has no idea what. Or where. "So. . .what are we eating?"

Kate sighs and chews on her lower lip, shrugging at him. He puts the phone down and tries to make his brain cough up a brilliant suggestion. But they had Thai the other day and then Alexis's pasta, plus Mexican when they stopped earlier in the week.

Kate sudenly pushes past him and heads for his pantry, opening it up and standing in front of it like-

Like she's at home.

And yeah, yeah it feels really good to see it, to see her standing there inspecting his shelves like they're hers as well. He realizes, suddenly, that what he told her in the guest room was entirely too true: he wants her to move in with him.

She can even stay in the guest room, for now, so long as she's here.

Kate pulls out peanut butter and heads towards the fridge to pull out grape jelly and sandwich bread. She glances at him as she piles it all on the counter. "I think I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Want one?"

He smiles. "Yeah."

But when he moves to crack open the jar of peanut butter, she slaps his hand away. "Faster if I do both."

So he steps back, finds her a knife in the drawer, and lets her get to it. When she scoops out a glob of jelly, she sticks the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth like a child concentrating.

She cuts them diagonally and sets the knife onto the counter next to the sink. "Milk?"

He grins wider and pulls down two glasses, one with Barbie's silhouette on it (Alexis's of course) and another with the new Captain Kirk from Star Trek (his). He pulls out the carton of organic milk and pours them both a glass.

He picks up the Barbie one to hand it to Kate but she scoffs at it and reaches for the Star Trek. "You can keep the girly one, Castle." And then she grabs her plate and stalks towards the couch.

He laughs to himself and grabs the chips, then heads for the couch as well.

* * *

><p>After she's teased him about the way he eats his peanut butter and jelly sandwich (he puts chips between the two slices of bread, on the peanut butter side so they don't get soggy, and then crunches down on all of it, a big bite), after that, Kate finds store-bought chocolate chip cookies in the cupboard next to the plates (like a hidden stash; there's also hershey's kisses and oatmeal cream pies back there). She brings them back to the couch and they consume half the bag before they both have to stop.<p>

She lays on the couch with her back to the arm rest, her knees propped up, her feet on his thigh. He keeps a hand on her ankle and slumps down in the couch, leaning his head against the back cushion and still laughing at her.

Kate feels good. An hour ago she didn't think it would be possible. It might be the comfort food that tastes like nostalgia, or the chocolate chips melting in her mouth, but Kate is definitely talked down from the ledge, out of the maelstrom.

The whirlpool is still there, there's a ripe tide lurking under the surface, but for the most part, she can float, relax.

At some point, Castle checks the time, maybe starting to worry about Alexis, but he says it's only eleven and stands up to grab more milk. Kate stretches out on the couch, thinking only to rest for a moment, unfurl the cramped lines of her muscles, wincing as the bruises telegraph pain in dots and dashes.

Castle is texting Alexis now; she can hear it in the silence, in the way he pauses just before the couch. She is sinking, unfocused, until she feels his hand brush her forehead, stroke down her closed lids.

She opens her eyes as he hovers, lifts up on her elbows. "Alexis?"

"Coffee with a friend. She says she's fine. She'll take the car service back."

"For a few blocks?"

He gives her a sheepish look and moves to his spot at the end of the couch, lifting her feet and settling down again. "Yeah, I asked her to."

"You have a smart daughter," she starts, tilting her head to watch him. "But it is dark out there, on a dark day, and-" She shrugs and looks away. _And I did this to you. And now you'll do it to her_.

Castle skates his palm up her calf to hook his fingers around the back of her knee. "Come here."

She *is* here.

Castle tugs on her knee, as if threatening to drag her down towards his end. She takes the hint and sits up, her knee now across his lap, his hand warm on top of her thigh. He immediately captures the back of her neck and brings her even closer, mouth to mouth, a kiss that doesn't demand anything, only gives life.

She feathers her fingers along the side of his face, stroking, letting him set the pace, the taste, the tone, until she can't stand any more of this slow tease of his lips. She shifts to raise up on her knees over him, likes the feel of his neck stretched up to reach her, the tendons straining, tight.

She feels him swallow, then renew his assault on her lips, his arm along her lower back and pressing her close. She straightens, breaking their kiss to breathe, to ease the ache in her bruised back, only to have his mouth settle at the skin over her breastbone.

She opens her eyes. Has to find a way to breathe.

"Castle."

He lifts his head and she sinks to his lips, drawing him all the way down, her back to the couch cushions, his weight heavy over her. A hand laces through hers and lifts it over her head, pinning it there even as she arches into him, breathing shallow and too fast.

"Kate," he whispers, his voice raw with arousal.

She finds his eyes, discovers the thin edge of his self-control. She pauses to breathe, to come back, to spiral down into her own mind.

She doesn't say anything, not a word in either direction, but he nods once and shifts as if he's going to get up.

"Stay," she says, hearing the growl in her throat. She even hears the parallelism of her request, and knows that Castle, as the writer, will hear it as well.

He smiles slowly and rests his weight on his forearms, letting his fingers caress the sides of her face, her hair, feathering a kiss to the corner of her mouth, the corner of her eye. His body feels good against hers, heavy and solid, a shield.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, smiling again. "But my daughter-"

She groans and closes her eyes, brings a hand to cover her face, ashamed and bewildered.

"Hey, Kate, don't do that," he laughs, trying to brush her hand away.

She shakes her head, feeling the material of the couch against her neck, against the bruises along her vertebrae. "I can't believe I-"

"It's cute. And sexy. And - ah! - Kate, you're gonna have to stop squirming-"

She stills immediately and feels the blush creeping up her chest, reaching for her cheeks. She peers at him through her fingers, lowers her hand to see the strange combination of need and amusement in his face.

"This isn't me," she moans, and he does her the courtesy of lifting up and moving away from her.

She lays there for a second, long enough to hate herself for her lack of control, but Castle grabs her hands and tugs her upright, so she comes to a sitting position, dreading the moment when she has to meet his eyes.

And yes, there it is. Exaltation. Excitment. The little boy gleam of victory. "Shut up," she huffs, rolling her eyes because it's habit, because she's trying to keep that blush from starting up again.

He laughs. "I didn't say a thing."

"You were not saying a thing very loudly."

Castle laughs again and tugs her all the way into his arms, but she struggles back out, determined to keep her distance. Well, a small amount of distance. A fraction of the distance.

He lets her go, watching her carefully. She wonders why. Other than searching for signs of the blush she hates.

"I really have you, don't I?"

She startles so badly she nearly falls off the couch, has to put a foot to the floor to catch herself. "What?"

He shakes his head as if to dislodge the idea. "Ignore me. I'm tired. My mouth has no censor."

"You *have* me?"

"Oh, please, Kate. Ignore it. Jeez. That was stupid." He slaps his cheeks with each hand, shakes his head again. "I've had a hard day. I should get a free pass for stupid."

She chews on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "You want a free pass."

He winces and rubs a hand through his hair.

"I suppose, Castle, I can let it go. Just tonight. Because. . ."

When she trails off, he glances up. Now that she has his full attention, now that his eyes have reluctantly tracked to hers, brimming with hesitant and bracing hope, she smiles at him.

"Castle, if anyone could possibly have me, it'd be you."


	20. Chapter 20

**Ghost on the Canvas**

by** Sandiane Carter **and** chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>When his mouth runs away from him, it's a good idea to head to bed. Regardless of how she turns the tables on him so easily, she should probably get some sleep as well. By some mutual astonishment with how this night has gone, they both stand and head for the stairs.<p>

He'll just walk her to her door. Like a gentleman.

He'll just walk with her to the guest room, because he will have to come back downstairs and wait up for his daughter of course. Of course. That's the reason, that's a very good reason. A perfect reason not to stay in Kate's bed-

Bedroom. Her bedroom.

She lets her hand bump against his, her fingers brushing his, pinkies tangling for a moment before she finally laces their hands together.

"Halfway up the stairs," she murmurs. And he doesn't get it, at all, but he sees the amusement and the fondness in her face. For a stair?

In the dark hallway, Castle realizes they have slowed way down, their walk stretching out for as long as possible as they amble forward.

It takes an age to get to the door of the guest room, wide open and welcoming. He tries not to look at the bed.

"Castle."

He glances back to her, the gorgeous and tired line of her profile.

"Can I get a free pass for stupid as well?"

He tilts his head. When was she stupid?

While he still thinks on that, she wraps her fingers around his elbow, steps in close, and then uses her body to press him back against the wall.

Their chests are flush, their hips meet. And then her mouth is on his, both hungry and lazy, a predator playing with her prey.

He allows himself to be ravished for only so long before he has to push her back, gasp for air, for control, for a semblance of sanity.

She eyes him like he's delicious; he shivers at her gaze.

He can see it in her face, feel it in the thrumming of her body - if it weren't for the fact that his daughter will walk in the door downstairs at any moment, Kate would ask him inside to stay. He can tell. He can see it on her face. She wants him to stay.

Stay.

And he has never felt so grateful for the threat of his daughter's presence. Because in the morning, Beckett will be back to her old self, strong and confident and independent; Kate will retreat. But even though he knows this, he still wouldn't be able to tell Kate no.

He cups her cheek, brushes his thumb across the seam of her lips in a promise and a regret, then kisses her forehead.

"Go to bed, Kate. I've got to wait up for Alexis."

* * *

><p>Her father is asleep on the couch when she comes in, locking the door behind her quietly. Beth stumbles against her and giggles, but Alexis shushes her and shoves her towards the stairs.<p>

"Gram's room is empty. Go."

Beth tiptoes up the staircase with her bag slung over her shoulder. After they hatched their plan, Alexis was dragged shopping with the Beckett sister at eleven p.m. through the strange aisles of Walgreens, exclaiming over red crystal candle holders and Hawaiian print flipflops while Beth looked for an oversized NYC tourist shirt and sweatpants to wear to bed. Alexis got to help find Beth makeup and deodorant, then they bought four or five bottles of nail polish and nail tattoos.

Alexis thinks Beth is amazing. And well, they could practically be family, right?

When Beth gets almost to the top of the stairs, the step creaks loudly enough for Alexis's father to jerk awake.

The girl runs forward, shooing Beth behind her back, and envelopes her father in a large, squeezing hug, expertly maneuvering him away from a line of sight with the stairs. He laughs and hugs her back, eyes only for her.

"Dad, why are you sleeping on the couch? I thought you were gonna. . .you know. . .comfort Kate."

His mouth drops open and she feels a little pleased she could surprise him. "Honey, I. . .why do you. . ." He closes his mouth and shakes his head at her. "You got me."

She grins and plops down on the couch beside him, hoping that Beth has managed to find Gram's old room without too much trouble. "Seriously Dad. Um. I kinda thought you guys would be. . .together."

Her father raises an eyebrow at her. "Do I do that kind of thing in our own home?"

Alexis wrinkles her nose. "I didn't mean *that* - well - not exactly that. Maybe that. And really, if you did do that with Kate, here I mean, then that's. . .okay by me."

"Are we having the reverse sex talk here?"

Alexis laughs and squirms, feeling the blush rise in her face. "This isn't. . .maybe? I just want you to be happy Dad."

"And you think Kate makes me happy."

She glances up at her father, his hair mussed from sleeping on the couch, rubbing his eyes with a fist. He's a big kid, really, but he's also an awesome father. He makes her feel like she's important, that being intelligent and curious is a valuable thing, that she's beautiful. He builds a careful world around her, and he doesn't ever ask for anything for himself.

Well, lately anyway. Since Kate.

"I just want you to have somebody," she starts, wrinkling her brow as she tries to find the right words. "No, well, that's not true. Not just anybody. I want you to have someone good, someone worthy. Someone who thinks you're as extraordinary as you think she is."

"You need to stop reading my Nikki Heat books," he jokes, giving her a fatherly frown. But smirking.

"You're amazing, Dad. You really are. And I know I'm not supposed to talk about the exes, but Gina's not any fun and my mom. . .is my mom. Well. You know." She shrugs that off with a roll of her shoulders, determined not to think about all the ways her mother has let them both down. "So this time around, I want you to get someone good."

Her dad wraps his hand around hers and squeezes, then pulls her into his side. "I did, pumpkin. I got you."

She lifts her eyes to see his, the warmth and tenderness. The way he makes it all about her. And that's nice, of course, it's very sweet. It makes her feel wanted, like a little girl, a princess, but it's not enough for him, not for the rest of his life.

"I got you too," she says softly. "But I wish you had Kate."

He sits back and sighs. "I wish I did too."

And there it is, hanging before them, the spector of Kate Beckett, the woman who can't be tamed or mollified or had.

"Alexis."

She looks at him. The hesitation in his voice is a warning, but the intent in his eyes in unclear.

"Do you. . .miss having a mother?"

Her heart stutters. He's never asked her something like this before, never broached the subject of Meredith with her. He's apologized for her lateness, her inconsideration; he's brushed away Alexis's five year old tears when her mother missed a school program or violin recital; he's taken her for ice cream after they stood and watched Meredith's plane leave.

He's never acknowledged in words, outright, all the things Alexis has stored up in her heart. Both of them knowing without words the way things are, and the way things should be. Should have been. Because it's too late now to fix.

She hesitates. "Do I? Or did I?"

"I know you did. Do you now? Is it something a girl can grow out of. . .if she's never had it?"

Alexis watches his concern ripple over his features like a pebble dropped into water. "Sometimes I miss. . .knowing."

"What helps?"

"You." She waits and makes sure he's clear on that. "Gram. Paige's mom is nice to me." Alexis watches her father's furrowed brow, the way none of this seems to help. So she tells him the truth. "And Kate."

Sometimes there's Kate.

Oh. Sometimes. . .there's Kate.

"You like Kate."

"I love her," she breathes out in a rush, blushing again. She's so glad Kate isn't down here to hear this, because she's not sure she could ever get the guts to tell her, especially without blushing, and it's somehow vital that her father know, that someone know what it means to have Kate. "She's so cool. She knows how to make everyone listen when she talks. And her clothes are perfect but not impossible. She's got that really dry sense of humor, so that you have to be paying attention to get it. And she does, she makes people pay attention, notice her. I want - I want to do that, be like that."

"I'm so glad you think that," her father says, leaning in close to bump his shoulder with hers. "I think. . .however long it takes, Kate is it for me, Alexis."

She turns knowing eyes to her father, reaches out to smooth down his hair. "I know she is, Dad."

She stands up to kiss forehead, then heads uptairs. Her dad isn't the one who needs convincing, is he?

This is where she and Beth come in. Kate just needs a little nudge.

* * *

><p>Beth opens her eyes, and it takes her a long minute to remember where she is. Not France, not her father's house. The Castles' loft.<p>

Alexis's grandmother's bed. Which is, well, a little weird. But at the same time, that bed is, by far, the most comfortable Beth has ever slept in and once she knows what the place is, when she's gotten her bearings, she allows herself to relax and close her eyes again.

She checks the time, when she gets the strength necessary to slide up a lead-heavy eyelid. Twenty to eight. Oh. She can go back to sleep; they've got plenty of time. And Alexis said she would come to wake her up, anyway.

Alexis. Thinking of the girl makes Beth smile, a sincere, happy smile. Alexis, though she looks completely different from Kate, reminds Beth of a younger version of her sister. The same peculiar charm, the same mixture of beauty and intelligence. Alexis might be a little more confident than Kate was, a bit more open and ready to laugh, but still. The resemblance is there.

Beth would probably like Alexis even if she didn't remind her of Kate, because the girl is so mature, so sweet and so much fun, too – but this only makes it better.

She curls up in the bed, turns to the window, enjoying the way the mattress accomodates the shape of her body, adapting to every curve.

She really hopes Castle will be in her sister's bed. Which is unusual for her. Beth has never looked too closely on Kate's relationships; when she did, it was always to think that Kate was too good for whomever she was dating.

But Rick... Hell, even Beth herself wouldn't mind – the young woman catches herself, laughing inwardly. No, Rick Castle is Katie's, and only hers. And Beth can admit that she would probably be attracted to him if he wasn't, but she also knows herself. Her temperament is too similar to Castle's; they'd have fun together, but they wouldn't last.

While he and Kate... they balance each other. Beth wonders if she's crazy for thinking this, after only one night spent with the two of them. But she watched, and listened, and felt; and there's no doubt in her mind.

The Katie from last night is much closer to her childhood companion than to the Soldier version of Kate that Beth had to live with for a whole year after their mother passed away. And that alone seems like a miracle to her.

A miracle Richard Castle is responsible for.

Someone's got to make Katie see that.

And Beth, this time, will step up and do her job. It's time to stop thinking that Kate is old enough to make her own decisions, old enough to know what's good for her. Clearly, if Rick Castle is anything to go by, her sister can be blind like anyone else.

Beth will make her see.

Or, well, she'll try.

* * *

><p>Alexis drifts gradually into consciousness, the warmth and comfort of her bed increasing the difficulty of the task. But when she registers, through her closed eyelids, the light that seems to be bathing her room, she jerks awake at once, a little dizzy from skipping the remaining steps.<p>

She rolls onto her side, eyes connecting to her alarm clock, and relaxes somewhat. It's eight thirty. Surely Kate and her dad can't be up already? Better not to delay, though. The teen pushes back the covers, untangles her reluctant legs from their cocoon.

She planned on getting up earlier, but she was so excited last night. It took a while for her mind to settle down into sleep.

Excited. Part of Alexis huffs amusedly at the word, because this is so unlike her. She's always so careful not to get her hopes up, not to be too excited about something she can't be certain about. Of course, it's all related to her mother's ways – she doesn't need a therapist to tell her that.

But last night… It's like Beth is rubbing off on her. Like some of that light, sparkling enthusiasm got transferred into Alexis. Their 'plan' isn't much of a plan, really: they just want to cook a Sunday brunch and start the family tradition again, and Beth plans on talking to Kate afterwards, about 'how she needs to lets Rick Castle in already.' Castle's daughter is impressed at the young woman's courage – she herself would never dare lecture Kate Beckett.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, a brush of her long hair to look a little less like a witch, Alexis tiptoes out and listens for noise. Nothing. Oh, good.

She dashes to her grandmother's room, turns the handle quietly.

"Beth?" She whispers, stepping inside.

It's very dark in here, because Martha likes to sleep in, and she has very thick curtains that block out the daylight. The girl ventures forward anyway, a hand on the dresser next to the entrance, to find her way until her eyes have adjusted.

"Beth?" She asks again, when she's made out the form of the sleeping woman.

Alexis starts to feel vaguely worried by the lack of a response. Maybe Beth is just a heavy sleeper? She reaches out hesitantly, splays a hand on the shoulder closest to her, and shakes gently.

Next thing she knows, she's being violently pulled forward, her wrist caught in a steel grip. Alexis shrieks, unable to help herself, and falls on top of Beth, who's laughing wildly and whose fingers are now on Alexis's ribs –

"No, no," Castle's daughter pleads, breathless with laughter herself, "I'm not ticklish – ah!"

She squirms to escape Beth's hold, manages to grab the woman's wrists and put some distance between those evil hands and herself.

"Not ticklish, really?" Beth asks, grinning.

"You'll pay for that," Alexis replies, as threateningly as she can, when she's got enough air to allow it.

"Bring it on, Little Castle," the other woman challenges with an evil raise of her eyebrow.

The teenager chuckles, but ultimately she simply lets herself fall back on the bed, startled by the warm feeling that has erupted in her chest. Is this what it's like, having a sister? Someone who sneaks in your bed on weekends to tickle you.

Oh, stop. Alexis backpedals slowly, because this is going too far, too fast. Beth is Kate's sister. And yes, Alexis is becoming fast friends with her, but that doesn't mean... She sighs.

They're friends. Friends is good. Where does that sudden neediness inside her come from? It's like her conversations with Beth, with her dad, have awakened this dark, unsatisfied beast that she hadn't realized was lurking in the depths of her mind.

"Ready for breakfast?" She asks, determined to put this thing back to sleep.

"I'll follow your instructions, Chef Alexis," Beth answers teasingly, sliding out of bed.

She holds out a hand for Alexis, and Castle's daughter doesn't think twice – she takes it.


	21. Chapter 21

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Something nudges at her, trying to prod her awake. A feeling. A sense. It's difficult to rise from the deep, abiding dark of sleep, but that ping of awareness, that cop-sense, keeps at it. Doesn't let up.<p>

When enough of the morning trickles through her brain, Kate opens her eyes, immediately knowing that something is wrong.

She turns over on her back and sees two people at the foot of her bed.

"Wha-"

"Morning, Katie."

"Beth?" She struggles to sit up, noticing Alexis next to her sister. "What's going on?"

"We made breakfast, but you're in the wrong room."

Kate rubs a hand down her face, checks the time. A little after 9. Wow. She slept in. Of course, it's been one of those weeks and this is all catch-up. "Let me get dressed, shower, and I'll come down to the kitchen."

Alexis is shaking her head, nibbling on her lower lip as if either afraid or amused.

Beth grins. "Nope. That's not the right room either. Right Alexis?"

Why is her sister here? Why is Beth in Castle's loft? "When did you get here?"

"Last night. Lex snuck me in. She's quick."

Kate turns to look at Alexis, surprised. The girl takes a hesitant step forward, her eyes on Beth as if for courage.

"We made breakfast, but we wanted to serve it to you guys on trays. You know, breakfast in bed. But-"

Here, Alexis stumbles and her eyes scuttle away from Kate's again.

"I'm up now. I don't mind coming down-"

Beth snorts and shakes her head. "That's not it, Katie. Alexis and I planned on serving you breakfast in someone else's bed. Hint, hint. And you're kinda ruining it."

In someone else's-?

Kate gapes at her sister, lunging forward to press her hands over Alexis's ears. "Beth!"

Alexis laughs and tugs on Kate's hands. "It was my idea."

"Alexis!"

"Come on, Katie. Up, up. You gotta get in bed with Rick so we can give you guys your breakfast."

"I am not-"

"Come on, please?" Alexis says, her eyes wide and round, blue sparkling, nose pert. She's a teenager, not a four year-old who's never had a real mother. Kate repeats it again to herself, ignores the way Alexis's face pulls at her heart.

"No. No, Alexis - Beth-"

She's not sure who she's irritated at more, or who deserves payback more-

And then Alexis has caught her wrist and Beth has her other wrist and they yank her out of bed and to the door. She could escape, certainly, but it would do damage.

"No. Beth, seriously, this isn't funny." She twists her arm around to break her sister's grip, but that just gives Alexis the opportunity to twine their arms together and march her towards the hall.

"Come on. Breakfast time. And Dad's bed is bigger."

"Alexis," she gasps. "No, no. You can't really want me to do that-"

"Oh, but I do. And I know Dad would too." Alexis tugs harder, and they all three stumble through the doorway and into the hall, and panic truly grips Kate now, tight. She tries to dig her feet in but her socks slide on the floor.

"No. Bethie please. Don't make me-"

"You gotta stop teasing Castle and just go for it, Katie."

"Beth!" Oh no. Alexis is hearing every word of this. That's not fair to the girl, to let her know there's even a hint of something, only to have it - just in case it - if it doesn't-

And Kate just woke up; she looks flat and scruffy, smells like yesterday's suspect capture. "Let me at least - Beth, please - let me at least shower!"

Alexis drops her arm and glances to Beth with concern etched on her features. "I - I think she's got a point. I wouldn't want to crawl in bed with a guy I liked if I'd just woken up and-"

Kate whipped her head around to Alexis, staring. "You better not be crawling into bed with a guy, period!"

Alexis's mouth drops and Beth laughs, but Kate really isn't sure it's so funny.

"Let me go, Beth."

"I think that's cute. You just mothered her. Adorable, Katie. And sure, take a shower, freshen up. But me and Little Castle - stepCastle - will be right outside the door waiting to take you to bed. His bed."

Alexis is blushing furiously, but Kate thinks she sees something in the girl's eyes, something poignant and needy.

And it scares her.

_Step_Castle?

* * *

><p>Castle grunts at the noise and squeezes his eyes tighter. It can't be ten o'clock yet, because the ten o'clock sun hits him directly in the face and smacks him around a bit. A good thing for a stay-at-home dadwriter; he's got laziness timed perfectly that way.

And since it's not ten in the morning yet, that means he should definitely still be sleeping. Whatever that noise was, it's not his concern. His loft is secure, the killer is caught, it can't be anything that requires his attention.

A scuffling right outside his door. Ug. Seriously Alexis? What is this foolishness? As a member of the Castle household and a teenager, she knows better than this on a Sunday.

He pulls a pillow over his head just as he hears his door pop open and bounce against the wall. Ridiculous. He's gonna ground her. She's a terrible child. Terrible-

More scuffling, a harshly whispered _No_ that's muffled but panicky, and sounds like Kate, actually, which is strange. If he concentrates, he can hear Beth too. Which isn't right. Beth?

He pulls the pillow away from his head to look-

Suddenly a body is dropped straight in his lap and he jerks upright, heart pounding, awake-

Kate gets to her knees and pushes wet hair out of her eyes, but she turns her glare behind her to where Castle now sees Beth, her sister, and Alexis, his daughter.

Both looking evil and happy.

"What are you doing?" he sputters. He reaches out like he's going to help her or. . .or something. But Kate has her balance.

Beth claps her hands together and rubs them. "Me and Lex made breakfast together for you guys, but we were expecting to find you in bed together, we didn't want to dish it up twice, so. . ."

Kate rocks backward, as if she's stunned, and sinks to her feet. "Beth."

"We thought, since you guys just had a hard case, pretty crazy according to StepCastle here, you'd like a nice, relaxing time. So we're starting up Sunday brunch all over again. With family. Right, Katie?"

Castle blinks and looks over at Kate. Step what? And brunch. And- "You made us breakfast?"

Beth laughs and Alexis looks a little less. . .wary. His daughter turns to the door, puts her hand on the knob. "So Kate. . .you're good? Because we have to get the stuff. And I'm afraid you're gonna sneak out."

Castle grins and catches the back of Kate's shirt with his hand, a wad of material in his fist. "Kate'll stay put. Go get food. I'm starving."

"You just woke up," she shoots at him, glaring.

"So?" When does the amount of time since awakening have anything to do with being hungry?

He feels Kate half-heartedly struggle, but Beth turns at the door and shoots her one last look. "Sunday brunch, Katie."

Oh. Just like their mom used to do. Well, that's just emotional blackmail, isn't it?

But when Beth and Alexis leave, Kate stays. She slumps a little, her head in her hands, which doesn't bode well, but instead of backing away, Castle tugs her backward.

Kate falls, limbs flailing, but he laughs and hauls her back with him to the headboard of his bed, stretching his feet out under the covers. Kate growls at him.

"Too sexy," he murmurs, his hand still on her back. "Save that for later. My daughter and your sister are probably listening at the door. And if not, they'll be back soon."

Kate laughs hollowly, sounding like it's completely against her will, but she relaxes a little more. She still doesn't lean back though, or get comfortable; she sits up straight, legs crossed, a little too much distance between them.

"That's not how you do it, Kate." He tugs on the blankets and flips them back, then slides an arm under Kate's legs and sweeps them out.

She yelps and grabs his shoulder for balance. "What are you doing?"

"Stop resisting my rugged good looks and my obscenely soft sheets," he mutters. "I'm trying to get you in bed with me."

"In your dreams."

"Yeah, usually. But you know, you don't always put up this much resisitance."

"Then it really is a fantasy, isn't it?"

"Well, in *those*, you put up a hell of a lot more resistance. My fantasies I mean. More like-"

She slaps her hand over his mouth and he tastes toothpaste. Castle pulls back (even though he'd rather lick her palm, see where *that* leads them), flips the covers over her legs and wraps an arm around her. "You showered. That's totally not fair. I'm all sleep-gross."

Kate turns to look at him, her eyes dark. "Not gross at all, kinda. . ."

He lifts both eyebrows in surprise. "Kinda what?"

Is she blushing? That look right there could be the Kate equivalent of blushing.

And then she leans in and gives him a soft, welcoming kiss, her fingers wrapped around his chin. He slides his hand to her neck, grips her still-wet hair, pulls her a little closer, tastes her.

When she breaks the kiss, so soft, oh wow, so soft, her fingers brush over his lips and down to his chest. She's got to feel how hard his heart pounds.

"Kinda adorable, Castle."

He blinks and looks at her, sees her, this woman in his bed (thrown in by her sister and his daughter, true, but still here), this woman who has kissed him like she's been waiting forever to kiss him just like that.

All kinds of beautiful sentiments rise in his chest like helium-filled balloons, squirming to get out, break free of his heart and drift off into the blue sky. He's entranced by her, unable to speak, and all he can really latch on to is this:

It's tomorrow. It's tomorrow and she kissed him.

* * *

><p>Kate cannot believe she let Beth and Alexis – *Alexis* – drag her into Castle's bed. She's never quite known how to resist Beth, the constant flow of energy, of laughter that animates her sister, but this...<p>

Oh, she hopes Alexis is really doing it of her own accord; she hopes, with all her heart, that Beth hasn't taken everything over. Kate closes her eyes, remembers the light in the clear blue eyes of Castle's daughter, her shy eagerness, and it dampens her concern.

Unfortunately, that also leaves more space for her growing awareness of Castle himself, and his hand rubbing feather-like circles at the small of her back, where her T-shirt stops and leaves some naked skin exposed.

It's all she can do not to lean back in his embrace and kiss him again, victorious and exacting this time, her body molding into his as she throws a leg around him –

Thank god Alexis and Beth come back before she has time to finish that thought.

The trays are wooden, very large, and seem to be overflowing with breakfast goodness. There's bacon and eggs and cereal, yes, but also French toast and jam and orange juice and muffins (did Alexis make those?), yogurt, and – Kate is certain that this is her sister's doing – a full bowl of strawberries.

It looks absolutely delicious.

"Oh, wow," she lets out, sincerely impressed.

The sight tugs at hollow places inside her, fills them, overshadowing her disappointment for missing breakfast with the Castles yesterday, offering a bittersweet echo to those times, long ago, when she and Beth brought trays to their parents for their birthdays.

Of course, Castle's enthusiasm makes up for her silence. He claps his hands in delight like a six-year-old, making an out loud list of everything included in their breakfast.

"Oooh, strawberries! And toast, and _muffins_! Best breakfast *ever*," he winks at the two plotters, Beth and her contented smirk, and Alexis who's grinning so wide that her face might crack any minute.

Kate can only agree.

Right then, Beth says, "Well, we'll leave you to it," and she starts moving towards the door. Panic flares into Kate's chest.

"No," she exclaims before she can control herself.

Three pairs of eyes fixate on her, with very different expressions. "I mean," Kate tries to smoothe the edge to her voice, "you girls have worked hard on this. It's only fair that you get to eat breakfast too."

Beth's eyes are laughing, knowing, and this doesn't bode well in her sister's opinion.

"We ate quite a bit while we were making it, you know. Had to taste everything, make sure it was good."

Castle's amused snort seems to suggest that he has similar culinary habits. Kate remembers yesterday morning and his wandering hand, venturing towards the bacon before everything was ready.

Not that it's a surprise, considering he also touches evidence at crime scenes and steals fries from her whenever they stop at Remy's for lunch. The surprise is how much she's come to like – love? – those impatient, restless, child-like ways of his.

Beth is still retreating, and Kate finds Alexis's eyes instead, smiling at the girl.

"You should stay," she insists more calmly. "Both of you. This is a family brunch, isn't it? And this bed is certainly large enough for the four of us. We'll scoot," she adds, amused at Castle's pout in her peripheral vision.

Alexis is easier to convince than Beth is; it only takes a warm, sincere, inviting look before the girl glances at her partner in crime and joins the breakfast party, sitting on the bed at Kate's feet.

Kate's sister assesses the situation and gives in gracefully, settling on Castle's side and stealing a strawberry from him. It gets loud protests out of him, which only encourages Beth to do it again.

The sweet-smelling food is just calling to Kate's stomach, and she gives in shamelessly, starting with the eggs and moving on to the bacon, then to the muffins. Those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches of last night were delicious, but they're not the kind of food that can last you for hours and hours on end.

She's vaguely aware of Castle commenting on her gluttony, but Alexis immediately jumps to her defense, recounting an anecdote about her father's own terrible eating habits, and Kate is left in peace, free to devote herself to those lovely strawberries.

When her hunger is somewhat assuaged, her attention switches back to the conversation that has been going on without her participation.

Alexis is saying, "And then our teacher asked what was so funny, and Justin just couldn't tell her, right? So he makes up that *ridiculous* answer about his aunt collecting the insects we were talking about –"

"Collecting insects?" Beth asks, her nose scrunched up in distaste. "That has to be the worst –"

"I know!" Alexis exclaims, laughing. "Everyone in the class did. And we were trying so hard not to laugh, you know, and then Lucy Evans just makes that high-pitched giggle, like she really can't help herself, and…"

"Oh, wait," Castle interrupts with a wide grin, "Is that Lucy the girl from the play last year?"

His daughter's brow furrows as she struggles to remember, and then her countenance brightens again. "Oh, yes! Yes, Lucy is the one who couldn't stop giggling and totally ruined the most dramatic scene of the play. See, even Dad remembers!"

"Well," Castle snickers, "it's, uh, not a sound you can really forget."

Alexis presses a hand to her mouth in that familiar, I-feel-so-bad-for-laughing-but-I-can't-help-it way, and Kate finds herself laughing too, completely relaxed now, feeling at home in Castle's bed, surrounded by her sister and his daughter. When Castle moves a certain way, his calf brushes with hers, and the sensation is ridiculously erotic, considering how very innocent their position is (especially compared to last night).

But this, this Sunday family brunch, the old tradition revived, is an entirely different thing, appealing in ways that she cannot fully define. It's so very…domestic.

And for the first time in many years – maybe the first time of her life – Kate Beckett finds that she doesn't mind domestic.

* * *

><p>When the trays have been thoroughly emptied of their contents, Alexis and Beth smile at each other, as if sharing a private joke, and stand up, muttering something about leaving Kate and Castle some privacy. Beckett's offers to take care of the dishes are stubbornly turned down, and the door closes on the satisfied faces of the two girls.<p>

As soon as they're alone, Castle wiggles his way back from a sitting position to a lying down one, and Kate, since she is so closely tucked into his side, has to follow suit.

Lies. She doesn't *have* to do anything; she's simply too comfortable to move, with Castle's thigh radiating warmth against hers even through his pajama shorts, his arm nonchalantly wrapped around her shoulders.

So she lets herself be brought down, her head finding a natural resting place against Castle's chest, her feet tangling with his under the sheets. This is nice.

This is so very, very nice.

The writer's light fingers trace the curve of her ear, twirl a lock of hair before coming back to caress her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Kate's eyes are closed, and she's trying to control her breathing when she feels his lips against hers, gentle, tentative. So warm and soft.

Something inside her chest clenches, because she realizes that those words she spoke last night – _I could come home to this_ – those words, spoken in the dizziness of exhaustion and guilt, well… they're the truest she's spoken in a while.

She lets her eyelids slide open, meets Castle's eyes. Twin pools of blue studying her.

It hits her again, how she is in *his* bed, Richard Castle's bed. And oh, the things she wants to do to him...

But it'll have to wait, even though they don't have an audience anymore. She needs to talk to Beth first, make sure her sister doesn't pull this kind of trick again. Make sure Beth realizes there's no need for it.

Because yes, she's come to terms with the fact that Castle has her, and the reverse is also true – she has him.

And she has no intention of letting go.

The writer has a tiny frosted flake stuck at the corner of his mouth; Kate edges closer, gathers it with a sweep of her tongue. She chews it, taking her time, watching Castle swallow with some difficulty.

And then, because it's simply too much fun, she bridges the small gap left between them and takes possession of his mouth, ruthless, warlike. No prisoners. Castle's breath hitches in surprise and he lets out a small, high-pitched sound of need that travels straight through Kate, like little needles of desire driven into her belly.

Not now, her brain pleads with her body, as her hands slide under Castle's pajamas, claw on the soft, supple skin of his sides. Soon, just... Not now.

He nibbles at her lower lip and she groans, has to gather every fiber of concentration she can to finally move her hands from his waist to his shoulders, push him away.

But she does, and she presses her forehead to his, glad that he sounds every bit as breathless as she feels.

"I need to talk to Beth," she explains in a low voice, regretful.

"I know," he answers, surprising her.

He's watching her, a light smile on his lips, looking much more confident than he did when Alexis and Beth offhandedly dropped her into his bed. Kate likes this, likes the spark in his blue eyes, the relaxed, handsome lines of his face.

She wants him to trust her. She *needs* him to trust her, because then she can't disappoint him – she has to step up and be good, be what he needs. What he deserves.

Because he's trying, trying so hard, to be what she deserves.

"Are we good?" He asks quietly, like he's just making sure. There's still a glimmer of doubt flickering across his face, however, and Kate leans into him, hides her face into his neck.

She kisses his skin, her lips parted to taste him, breathing him in. Her hand comes up to rest on his chest, on his heart, and she makes a fist of his shirt, unsure whether she's steadying him, or herself. Maybe both.

His heart is beating fast and hard under her fingers, a hammer against his ribs, as if it's feeling her presence and is trying to come out, stretching for her touch.

"We're more than good, Rick," she whispers, her nose brushing against his jaw, her voice a melange of sultry and teasing. "We're extraordinary."

She feels the smile break out on his face, a mirror to hers; then his arms close around her, squeeze her into his chest, crushing a rib or two in the process.

She grits her teeth, because the bruises from yesterday are making themselves known; but Kate is determined not to ruin the moment, so she rides the pain coming in waves, lets it crash against the solid support of Castle's shoulders, until she finally relaxes in his embrace.

"That hurt, didn't it?" he asks, sounding sheepish.

Of course he would notice.

"I'll live," she shoots back lightly, more interested in the steady pulse of the blood in his jugular.

"You're extraordinary," he states, awe and tenderness lacing his words.

"_We_, Castle. We," she amends distractedly, her lips finding their way to his neck again, unable to help it. He shivers; she cannot tell if it's from her words or from her touch.

"We," he agrees quietly.

And she likes what she hears in his voice. She likes it a lot.


	22. Chapter 22

Ghost on the Canvas

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Castle gets up reluctantly after Kate and walks her to the door of his bedroom, their hands linked loosely. He doesn't want to cling. No, he wants to cling, but he won't. He'll be good. He'll take it as it comes.<p>

"I've just got to talk to her," Kate says, turning before she gets to the door. She curls her fingers as if she doesn't want to let his go.

Castle nods. "I should shower."

Except he can't help leaning in once more, brushing the corner of her mouth with his lips. Kate brings her free hand to his cheek and skims her fingers along his jaw, light and teasing.

They break apart gently, hovering close, her eyes on him. Castle strokes his thumb across the back of her hand, that tender and soft and delicate skin.

He won't say it again, not now, but he knows his eyes say it. Too loudly perhaps. But she only watches him and accepts it.

"Go," he says finally.

Because even going isn't going far.

* * *

><p>He's only just gotten out of the shower, pulled on jeans when the knock on his door, and then the knob twisting alerts him to Alexis coming through into his bedroom.<p>

"Dad?"

"You schemer," he teases, grabbing a tshirt and pulling it on over his head. "You and Beth, huh?"

Alexis scuffs her toe against the rug. "Was that. . .too much?"

Castle glances over at his now-empty bed, remembering how Kate curled against him. "I think you did good."

Alexis grins at him from under the fringe of her hair. She sweeps it back in one hand and pulls a rubber band from her wrist, tying it back in a pony tail. "So you're not upset."

"Well. No. But I don't think it's such a great idea to push Kate like that on a regular basis."

Alexis grins though, and reaches up to cricle her arms around his waist. Rick grins and hugs her back, squeezing. "Dad, it was Beth's idea."

"Somehow I don't really believe that. . ."

"Well, I mean, it was my idea. But it was her idea to put Kate in your bed."

"Alexis," he huffs, completely uncomfortable with the way his daughter just tosses that around. "You can't just. . ."

"Why not?" she asks, all innocence and smiles.

"Ah, I don't know exactly. Except to say that I want to keep my little girl a little girl?"

She hugs him a little harder and pats his back then steps away, putting her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "You know I'm not a little girl anymore."

He sighs dramatically. "Yes but let's avoid phrases like 'in your bed' as if you're used to a parade of women in and out of our lives. Okay?"

Alexis smirks at him again. "Well, Dad, you haven't had a parade since Kate. So I guess your peace of mind is safe."

"I *never* had a parade," he says. "A parade? Seriously?"

And unfortuantely, a finger of doubt slides through the crack in his armor of self-deprecating humor. He never meant to expose his daughter to any of the almost spiritual wandering he'd been through the past few years, the years before Kate. He'd been searching for something, for meaning, for a way to be more than just a playboy with a gift for story and a lot of money.

This. This is what he was looking for.

"It was a discreet parade, Dad." Alexis laughs. "But you do know. . .once you started up with that interior designer-"

"Let's not bring up names, shall we?"

"You don't remember her name."

"I do too! In fact, I had her help us on a case." Castle smirks back at his daughter and reaches for his watch, snaps it on.

"You did? Like. . .in front of Kate?" Alexis wrinkles her nose.

"Yeah. Well, okay. It was at the very beginning. Back when I was trying to impress her."

"You were trying to *impress* Kate with the interior decorator?"

"Designer," he automatically corrected. "Yeah?"

"Oh my word, Dad. What exactly is supposed to be impressive about you not being able to say no to any woman who crosses your path?"

And while Castle was assuming this conversation was a fun distraction from the real one, he realizes now that this goes directly to the heart of whatever it is that Alexis has been wrestling with lately.

Alexis is still going, the smile dropped off her face. "There's nothing impressive about bouncing around from woman to woman, going to stupid parties with your sunglasses on like you're some kind of stud, flirting with anything that moves-"

"Alexis." He puts his hands on her shoulders and eyes her, reasserting some control here. "Whatever you think of my. . .behavior a few years back, I don't think you need to worry about it anymore."

Castle can see her jaw working; she's got a glimmer in the corners of her eyes that looks suspiciously like a prelude to tears.

"Yeah, but Dad. . .I just want to make sure that you understand that this is. . .different."

Definitely needs to make sure his daughter understands. "Hey. Alexis. Sit down for a second."

She plops into the chair beside his open closet door and draws her knees up, clasps her hands around her legs. She's not crying, but Castle can tell she's teetering on the edge of some great frustration.

"Kate is different. I think you know that."

She nods shortly.

"And hopefully, you know that I'm different too."

Alexis turns intense eyes on him, so much longing there.

"Hey, pumpking, I promise. That guy who killed off Derek Storm and moped around the apartment and went home with different women whenever possible? That's not me anymore. It's not just Kate, you know."

She swipes at her cheek, where a lone tear has escaped. "It's not?"

"Kate is amazing. She's definitely the biggest part of it. But this work we do? That they let me help with? It's pretty amazing too. It gives me a sense of purpose and. . ."

"Belonging," Alexis finishes, dropping her feet to the floor and leaning in to catch his hand. "I know, Dad. I can tell. You know you belong here too, right?"

"Yeah. Always will. You won't get rid of me." Castle sighs. "But I like belonging to Kate."

* * *

><p>"Beth?"<p>

The young woman jumps a little at the call of her name, stops her humming and half-turns, careful to keep her sudsy hands above the sink.

Her sister is leaning against the kitchen island, all dark hair and concerned eyes, looking absolutely adorable in the red shirt that used to be Beth's.

"You should keep that," Beth smiles, turning back to the remaining two plates. "The color suits you."

"Right, because our skin tones and hair colors are *so* different," Kate teases, coming closer. "You didn't have to do the dishes, you know," she adds in a different voice, lower, uncertain.

"I know," the younger Beckett replies gaily. "But I like it."

There's a short silence.

"Right," Kate replies slowly. "I had forgotten that."

Beth unplugs the drain, watches the water swirl out for a second before she reaches for the towel and dries her hands, one after the other. Then she swivels, assesses the look on her sister's face, the sadness lingering in those green eyes.

"No need to beat yourself up for something like this," she says with a smile, arching an eyebrow. "Truth be told, I'd rather not be remembered as the person who enjoys doing the dishes."

Kate's face relaxes, her eyes lighting up with an almost smile that doesn't touch her mouth.

"Better if you don't have to be remembered at all," she points out slyly.

Ah. Well. Beth has been expecting that conversation. She sighs, chews on the inside of her cheek.

"Kate. You know I'll probably leave again, right? This is just… the way I am. I can't stay put."

"Yes, I do know," Kate answers, holding out a hand and squeezing one of Beth's. "Not trying to pressure you here. I'm sorry. It's just – it's good to have you around."

"It's good to be around," the young woman admits, letting the warm feeling in her heart translate into a soft beam. "And, well, it'll probably be harder to leave this time. But leaving means I get to come back, too." She wiggles an eyebrow, adds, "Isn't that the best part?"

She's rewarded by one of her sister's rare laughs, and to her surprise, Kate tugs her forward, brushes her hair back, tucking a lock behind Beth's ear.

Wow. This is a big deal; Katie Beckett is certainly not famous for the amount of touching she does.

"You tell me," Kate replies, smiling. "You're the expert here, sis."

Oh. The affectionate moniker undoes Beth a little, and she buries her right hand in the pocket of her jeans, trying to keep it from trembling. Her sister watches her with knowing eyes – their mother's eyes – and gives her a minute to catch herself, before she asks gently, "Will you come upstairs with me? I have something for you."

"Uh, sure."

Beth's brow furrows as she mechanically follows, glancing at Rick's bedroom on the way. She hopes Alexis is doing okay in there.

What can Kate possibly have for her? Is it a present or something? It's strange. She half-expected to get told off for their little trick this morning, the whole breakfast-trap thing, and instead she gets rewarded. Uh. Well, gift horse and all that.

A few seconds later they're back into Kate's room, the sun streaming through the windows even though the curtains have only been half-drawn – it wasn't Beth's or Alexis's main focus earlier.

But now Beth is distracted by the quiet gorgeousness of the room, the eggshell blue of the walls contrasted by the navy bedcovers, and the lovely painting facing the bed, an interlacing of harmonious lines that merge into an almost face.

She is distracted, and thus absolutely unprepared when Kate says, "This is yours," and holds out her hand.

In her palm rests their mother's bracelet. Beth's breath catches in her throat, her eyes widening at the sight. She had almost forgotten. Almost.

But it's all here, the pretty rose gold color, the fine links, the delicate-looking clasp. Beth sees herself, eight years old maybe, asking her mom if she would give her the bracelet when she was older. The attraction it once held to her is measured against the repulsion she feels for it today – as if by asking her mother for the piece of jewelry, she had brought about her death.

It's silly, of course. She knows it.

But it doesn't mean she can help it.

"Kate…" She whispers, her voice giving out, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. She shakes her head desperately – against the emotion, or against the bracelet, she's not sure.

"Beth."

Her sister's voice is gentle, determined, exactly like it was when they were children and Kate was trying to talk her out of a craving for a doll or some ice cream. Beth breathes deeply, lets herself be calmed down by that soft voice that she hasn't heard in so long.

"You were right that day, when you told me you didn't need jewelry to remember Mom," Kate says. "I don't either. But Beth, I know, I *know*, that she would have wanted you to have it. And… Yes, you don't need a reminder, but – don't you want to wear it as a tribute to her? Don't you want to claim that connection, want everyone to know that she was your mother? Aren't you proud that she was?"

Beth is breathless. She hears the words, of course, but she also hears something else behind them, also sees that crack in Katie's eyes, the little flicker of need, of sadness. Oh, god, if her sister thinks –

She holds out her wrist without even thinking about it.

"Can you fasten it?"

And it's worth it, all of it: the slow, beautiful smile that spreads on Kate's lips, her imperceptible sigh of relief, the feel of the slowly warming metal, at home against Beth's skin.

Her eyes catch on the glimmer of gold in the semi-darkness, and suddenly it feels like there's no air in the room. Beth opens her mouth in a vain attempt to get some oxygen, but instead the fat, heavy sob that has been pressing hard against her ribs seizes that chance to come out; moments later her cheeks are wet with tears.

And she finds herself pressed into her sister's willowy frame, Kate's arms strong and supportive around her, her mouth feather-like against Beth's hair, whispering kind words in her ear.

"I know, I know," is what the younger woman hears through her irregular, jagged breaths, and it's all she needs. She clings, hard, to her sister's waist, feeling like she's ten again.

But no, when they were ten, their mother was still alive; when they were ten, she wouldn't have been wearing the bracelet because it would have been on Johanna's wrist, and –

This is too much. Maybe she hasn't been doing such a wonderful job of dealing with their mother's death as she thought; maybe Kate was right. Maybe she just ran from her issues. But she's not running now, and god, it hurts.

That ache in her chest, the way it wrings and twists and tears at her heart – it's the most painful experience she's ever been through.

But Kate is there to help her, to draw soothing circles on her back, to sing in that very low voice that is so much like their mother's, until slowly the sobs quiet down, until Beth stops shaking so badly.

Even then, the youngest Beckett doesn't let go. She remains snuggled into her sister's embrace, a fuzzy feeling gradually warming up her insides.

She's got Kate back. And if this was the deal – accepting her mother's death in order to have her sister back into her life – well, Beth thinks it was a bargain.

* * *

><p>It's been awhile since Kate and Beth went upstairs, but Castle is not interrupting. He's beeing good. He's being patient. They've got all day.<p>

His stomach flips to think of it. They've got all day. A Sunday at his loft. If he knows Kate, she'll want to apartment hunt online, probably scout out a few places. That thought brings him back to reality, but it's not like she can stay in his loft indefinitely.

Well, she could. But she wouldn't want to.

Castle checks the kitchen, but the dishes are all in the drying rack or stacked in the dishwasher. Alexis is at the kitchen bar with a book, looks like Dickens. He wanders into the living room, goes to pick up the remote, and hears someone on the stairs.

"Hey, StepCastle, nails remember?" Beth calls out, stopping at the top of the landing. Alexis looks up from her book, then back to the page as if debating, then hops off the stool and leaves Dickens on the bar.

"Coming. Can we do the crackle paint you bought?"

Alexis bypasses Kate on her way up, stopping to give the woman an impulsive little squeeze that clearly throws Kate for a loop. But Castle gives her kudos for hugging back and continuing down the stairs.

She looks better than she did before she left him at his bedroom door. And it's not like she left him looking all that bad, just that now. . .something is lighter about her. A burden is gone.

"It went well?" he asks, standing to meet her.

Kate lets her smile off its leash, not exactly radiant but not shy either. Like she's easing into it. Happiness. Castle can't resist that smile and he grabs her by the wrist and tugs her close enough to kiss.

"Ow," she yelps into his mouth.

"Damn," he breathes, letting go of her bandaged arm. "Forgot. Does it hurt?"

"Only when you stop," she teases, shaking off his concern by drawing him back down to her by the nape of his neck.

He apologizes with his tongue, tracing the edge of her bottom lip, the corner of her mouth, tasting toothpaste and strawberries. He likes this slow seduction, the tug of her hands, the slide of his palm, the brush of her thigh, the expanse of skin he can get to just under her shirt.

Castle releases her, eases away from that mouth, and waits until her eyes open before he speaks. "What do you want to do today? We've got all day."

She tilts her head, a sly look in her eyes. "You already *know* what I want to do all day. Why'd you stop?"

Oh wow.

Castle darts back to her lips, unable to help himself, but she detours and smudges the lines of his jaw with her mouth, brushing and nibbling away.

He lets out a soft groan, a sound of wonder, and wraps his arms around her, holds her in place against him, trembling. His mouth at her ear.

"Gotta stop," he pants. "Kate. _Kate_."

She laughs, evil, evil woman, and breaks off her assault, descends gracefully to the couch where she gestures to the cushion beside her. Castle takes a reluctant seat, trying to control the skipping rhythm of his heart.

"Don't you think we should talk?" he says finally.

She slides her feet up on the couch and shrugs. "About what?"

About what? "About. . .are there rules? Are there things I need to know?"

"Rules?" she questions, pushing her toes against his thigh. "Rules about what?"

Castle wonders if he's maybe dreaming. This seems. . .surreal. Is this really Kate or did Beth somehow switch with her? "About us. About the 12th. About us at the 12th."

"No." Now she's the one who looks uncertain. "What kind of rules?"

Is this really just not that big a deal? He feels like it's a huge deal. A very huge deal. "About. I don't know. PDA and stuff."

She looks concerned now, like he's grown a second head and she wants him to see a doctor. "Castle. . .I've dated guys at work before."

His heart flips a little. "Dated?" Inference being that they are now the ones dating.

She grins, casting her eyes to the side. "Whatever."

"Like Sorenson."

She snorts. "Like him. You think Will had rules?"

"Uh. . .yes?"

"Why do you think there'd be rules?"

"Because otherwise. . .how do they keep their hands off you all day?" he asks, and the thing is, he's totally being serious.

She laughs, soft and low; he can practically taste her arousal in the air. "We're both adults here - oh no, wait - I misspoke. I'm an adult. *You* are a large child-"

"Hey now."

"Castle. If you try to cop a feel while I'm briefing the Captain, I'll rain down a world of hurt on you. And I know you know that."

He nods eagerly. Submissively. Can you be whipped by a woman before you've ever been with her?

"You've been at my side for a year now. The only rule I have, and you know this, is don't put my boys in harm's way. Don't make my job more dangerous than it already has to be."

"Never," he breathes.

Her fingers slide over his lips. "You haven't. At least, you haven't in a long time. Castle, I gave you my gun last night. We made a plan and we followed it through. And it worked."

He swallows, feels her fingers fall from his lips to trace the hollow at his throat.

"Because you did as I asked, we came out alive. If you're doing something stupid, it makes it harder for me to protect you."

He nods. "I know." He doesn't add that running in after her wasn't part of her plan; she told him to free Shaw and go get backup. Instead, he'd been her backup. But she must trust those decisions he makes as well.

"You do know." She watches him intently and then leans in to brush her lips under his eye, a tickle of her mouth. "So let's get back to the good stuff."

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her loosely, trying to be more mindful of the fact that she got tossed into steel containers yesterday and body slammed to a concrete floor.

She leans up to kiss him, hovering along the edge of his lips, when a thought occurs to him.

"Can I tell everybody?"

She jerks back. "What?"

Ah, there it is. He knew there were gonna be rules. "Ryan and Esposito. Lanie. What about-"

"Castle. Do you need me to make an announcement in the bullpen? Or should I ravish you in the interrogration room for everyone to watch?"

"Uh. . .are you being facetious?"

Kate rolls her eyes, thumping his skin. "No. I'm being fa-serious."

Fa. . .serious? Oh.

"That's a joke."

"Castle." Is that laughing?

"I can't tell anyone? It's a secret?"

She huffs and gets to her knees, as if she needs the advantage of height to make him understand. "It's not a secret. The moment I do so much as touch you, the whole place will know. Making an announcement would be redundant. But if you want to, I'll turn the tapes off and we can steal some time in Interrogation before I go on shift."

All thought completely leaves his brain.

Did she really say-

"You're gonna touch me inside the precicnt?"

She stares at him.

"Oh that sounded dirtier than even *I* thought."

"Castle. What the hell is your deal?" Kate sinks back to her feet, her hands on his thighs, peering into his eyes.

"I - I'm trying to get my head around this. So we just. . .walk in Monday morning, maybe I'm holding your hand, you're smiling at me, and then we do our usual thing, I get your coffee, you kiss me a thank you, we stare at the murderboard, I give you a superb if somewhat creative theory which I believe you have recently called silly-"

"You've got a script for this?"

He tilts his head. "You don't?"

A flicker of a smile across her face. "Not that precise. I tend to like more. . .spontaneity. Surprise me, Rick."

A hot flush pours through his body and he surges forward, trapping her head in his hands, laying claim to her, ruthlessly staking the mine of her mouth, marking his territory. He bites on her lip and she shudders, pushes harder into him, sliding a knee forward. He grips her thigh and yanks her closer, sucking hard on her jaw just under her chin, rocking his hips towards her.

He feels her fingers digging into his shoulders, her chest pressed to his. Her leg between his is hard and hot; her breath is ragged against his ear. When she growls and chokes off with a moan, Rick slides his hand under her shirt, clutching her hipbone, releasing her lip.

They break apart to breathe, sucking down air and staring at each other. This is more. This isn't just a breakdown of their better inhibitions, their rational intellect. This is *having,* this is a raw connection sparking between them like a hand to a static electricity globe, but binding them in a way no mere spark ever could.

"You're right," she says suddenly and he's amazed at how collected, how together she sounds. "You're right; we've got all day. And all night."

Oh yes. Yes. All night.

"And Monday morning, when you bring me my coffee, you'll just have to wait and see how I thank you. When you spout your theory, you'll just have to wait and see what I do."

His heart pounds watching her, because he knows. He can see it. Everywhere he looks, he can see it: her burning eyes, her round ear, the frame of her lashes, the soft slope of her nose, the hand clenched around his shirt.

"Kate?"

"Hm?"

"You love me." He brushes a messy curl behind her ear and strokes her cheek. "You love me and you'll press that soft sighing kiss against my mouth, but I won't let you get away so quickly. I'll say something you won't expect, do something you won't expect. I'll surprise you."

She swallows hard and the teasing glint is gone from her eyes. "You always do." And then she closes her eyes, barely even a moment, before she opens them again, at rest. "Sometimes your silly theories turn out to be right."


End file.
